


That Hunts on a Lonely Hill

by ninaunn



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Destroy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship, Normandy - Freeform, Post-War, Reapers, Rivalry, Space Politics, Trauma, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 13:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 147,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4748468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninaunn/pseuds/ninaunn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Javik,” she said, or tried to through the sudden hot swell of emotion that burned at her eyes. He blinked slowly, but did not turn. Liara licked her lips and tried again. “Javik, do not read your people’s sacrifice as failure.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_"Green is that hill and lonely, set far in a shadowy place"_

_'The Lonely Hunter'_ \- William Sharp

.

.

**1.**

_You will be the voice of our people._

It was an eye-blink of time, or so it seemed. The close confines of his pod [coffin] cradled him like a child [corpse], while Victory spoon fed him an empty [useless] hope. Javik swore he would do more [would become more, would salvage something from the dying screams of his people] [vengeance].

Horror and fury coursed [burning] through his hearts even as he closed his eyes [closed out the scream of klaxons], the stink of his own rage bouncing off the pod’s walls. And in a heart-beat, he was pulled out of the nothingness of slumber, blinking at light not seen in 50,000 years.

All he could see was blue [blue].

The shock of it [the rage] threw him into action, biotics bursting forth [oh how he wanted to destroy something] as he stumbled from the life-pod [his grave].

It felt good to punch out. The figures surrounding him crumpled [so weak, so defenceless, did they think him so soft?]. Even as he hit the floor, tasting their surprise on the ceramic plates, instinct screamed to flee [to fight]. Limbs, too weak and stiff from so long in stasis, moved sluggishly as if through water.

But still, he stumbled away until Javik’s eyes were lost to that blue, blue sky.

[When had he last seen a sky so blue? Where was the fire, the thick heavy ash choking out the light as quickly as they were being killed?] [Where was the city, the tall, sharp edged buildings of his people’s last defence?] 

A mountain range, a land lush with nature stretched out to the horizon. His eyes tracked the basic building structures and prefab units surrounded the site as a crisp breeze whittled through the valley. It was another world entirely [another time].

Movement sounded behind him [trigger finger twitching], and Javik was spun back into those last desperate moments even as his mind twisted [crawled] around the primitive life-form [human, mammalian, amino-protein based, cybernetics, soldier] that had just dared to touch him.

His tongue cut against his teeth as he formed [foreign] newly familiar words.

The answer did not surprise him [but oh there was sorrow]. He could do nothing for the dead now.

[He had already failed them, his voice would be the last].

.

.

**2.**

“Device?”

Her fingers froze on the keyboard, and Liara sharply turned her attention back to the prothean.

“The weapon your people were working on,” she answered, mouth dry as she mustered the courage to consider that the ancient being before her did not have all the answers. “I’d hoped you could tell us how to finish it.”

Liara bit her tongue as the prothean stepped closer, tried not to gawp at the long lines of his face or the unblinking, yellow eyes peering at the Crucible blueprints. There was an air to him that hovered over her skin. It was an intensity she had not felt since her mother, a presence of mind that pressed against the senses. 

Breathing slowly through her nose, Liara clamped down on the bubble of questions she longed to have answered. In her youth, decades had been spent in happy isolation, quietly deciphering aeons old puzzles for her own research. The yearning to know had always rested in her bones.

Yet, so much more now depended on what she could glean from the past. She’d hoped, at the very least, for some kind of revelation from the foiled Cerberus operation on Eden Prime. Even the slightest understanding would give them an edge. The puzzles that hid the Catalyst worried at Liara’s brain and haunted her dreams with meaning, forever just out of reach.

That they had a living, breathing prothean in their midst seemed a miracle.

But, with the down-cast flutter of his bright eyes, Liara feared that it was a hollow one. 

“We never finished it. It was too late.” 

Body language, it seemed, was universal. It was hard to construe those sloped shoulders as anything other than a marker of defeat. Something hitched in her throat. Shepard shifted beside her, dark brown face grim.

“Then I take it you don’t know anything about the Catalyst?”

“No.” The prothean did not turn to face them. “I was a soldier, not a scientist. Skilled in one art; killing.”

The Commander exhaled sharply, and Liara bit back a hiccup.

There were more questions, of course. She asked of his mission, and he told them it was vengeance. Blood spilt for blood spilt, and even the krogan did not speak with that level of self-absorbed violence. It was hard to reconcile that the only remnant of the culture she had lovingly studied for so long was this forsaken soldier drenched in death. She had to hold herself back from objecting, reminded herself to listen and learn.

For decades, she had admired the prothean’s their knowledge, gleaned from echoes devotedly extracted of ruins. Ilos had seemed to confirm it; a glorious act of subterfuge, the ace up the sleeve played for game continuing long after the gamblers were gone.

She had found that act of sacrifice admirable, had wanted to emulate it. Looking at the prothean before her, Liara had to wonder if it was more a case of single-minded, desperate vindictiveness. 

His face revealed little as Shepard pried him for something, anything they might use against the Reapers. Liara could not tell if he pitied them, or was merely amused. An enigma, to be sure, but Liara was certain she could manage any amount of his disdain if only that could she learn more. Anything salvaged from his memories might aid in unlocking the Crucible’s design.

It was hard to listen to his account of the protheans; a ruthless empire built from the subjugation of others clashed against all her preconceptions. Still, an excitement darted like lightning through her body that Liara remembered from her earliest excavations. 

Foolish, she knew, to be distracted by old passions. Nothing had more importance then deciphering the Crucible; for a moment Liara had almost forgotten the war. Besides, she noted, the prothean seemed reluctant at best to indulge her professional curiosity.

Former profession. _It must wait,_ she told herself.

For the moment, it was enough to correct him on the biological classification of salarians, hear his soft disbelief and leave without a word.

.

.

**3.**

There was a certain sense of satisfaction [justice] from watching an ancient thresher-maw take down a Destroyer-class Reaper.

Javik had little time for wonder [he should be killing something]. But the [graceful] arc of the serpentine behemoth [keen roar a song] soaring through the air to assault the dread-machine, he thought, in this, he could indulge. 

Beside him, the asari [blue fingers pressed to her mouth] and the AI [a numb shell of metal] were similarly struck with awe. Krogan foot-soldiers cheered [their joy, thick and clumsy], and Javik sneered that they took such pride in a thing entirely not of their doing. 

Shepard had taken her heavy hitters [turian and human] to accompany the krogan warlord, [female] shaman and [odd] salarian on their mad scheme. Circumstance had led left Javik and his companions with the remains of a Tomkah convoy in a ditch on some [unremarkable] nameless road.

He did not ponder on why he hadn’t made Shepard’s team [Vega was passingly competent]. Trust perhaps, or not wanting an unknown element on such mission. Javik admired the reasoning [though flawed], despite considering the entire thing a fool’s errand [born from emotion or naivety]. Still, he [Javik] wouldn’t have minded a closer view.

[Wanted to watch that Reaper die].

The moment ended soon enough; there were husks and brutes that remained to be dealt with.

He yelled at his companions to take cover [they were frail] even as the krogan [mindlessly] charged forward [drunk on a victory that did not belong to them]. Over the comm-link, Shepard let out a long line of expletives.

“You still in one piece, Shepard?” The turian’s voice was light, but flanged with [barely concealed] worry. 

“Fit as a fiddle,” the Commander wheezed. “Don’t tell me you were worried, Vakarian?”

“For the other guy, mainly.”

Javik’s mouth tightened at their inane banter. In his cycle, such [unfocused, distracting] chatter was beaten out of recruits during primary training. Bad enough that he had to hear it [emotion]. 

“Sweet talker.” The bite of Shepard’s laugh was short and sharp [he hated how alive it made her sound]. “I’m heading in. Mordin might need a hand. Hole up, people.”

A dark sphere dangled two husks in the air [the asari], and Javik swept up his Particle Rifle to end their [wretched] existence. Together, they worked in tandem [biotics twisting and turning], and he was satisfied [pleased] that she had joined into his rhythm of battle so easily. They would not have much trouble from the husks; the Reapers had other things to occupy themselves with [other planets to burn].

The krogan fought well [with purpose] until word came that Shepard’s mad scheme had come to fruition and the salarian had activated the shroud. Then they roar [the genophage ended], and Javik must flinch away from the brightness of their [fierce] hope.

Distantly, he marvelled at how deadly [unstoppable with discipline] a force the krogan would have been under [prothean] Imperial rule.

Curiosity prickled at his skin, and Javik turned to meet the asari’s inscrutable stare [eyes wide and unflinching]. He bared his [sharp] teeth at her silent inquiry, and turned away. They had wasted enough time here.

.

.

**4.**

They all teased her about it, but Liara didn't mind. Goddess bless them, it was worth it to see that little quirk in the corner of Shepard’s mouth; she so very rarely laughed any more.

So when Joker, lewd glint in his eyes, asked if Liara had made any breakthroughs in prothean physiology yet, instead of revealing the latest trend in his pornographic viewing habits, she scowled in mock indignation and ducked her head to finish her meal.

And Shepard snorted; a crass sound, but then, she’d never been the delicate sort. The Commander feigned a swipe at the back of the pilot’s head and threatened to throw him out the airlock. Despite complaining loudly, Joker caught Liara's eye and they smiled like conspirators before he made a tactical retreat.

“What am I going to do with him?” Shepard mused, before noting Liara’s flushed face. “What am I going to do with you? Blushing like a bride over a prothean’s dangly bits.”

The noodles Liara’d just swallowed almost came up again as she choked violently. Shepard chuckled softly as she patted Liara’s back.

“There, there. I’m just teasing.”

If Liara was honest, the good humoured ribbing was not completely unreasonable. Never-mind that he’d quickly dispelled much of her admittedly dewy-eyed dream of the dead culture, Javik’s snappish anecdotes about his cycle revealed more than decades of lonely archaeological research. She still hoarded every scrap of information he let slip; any one could aid some part of the Crucible’s construction.

Thus far, the subject of prothean…physiology had not been brought up.

That the tightness around her friend’s dark eyes had loosened just a little made the whole ordeal, alarming mental image included, entirely worth it. Managing to catch her breath, Lira threw the haughtiest glare she could at Shepard.

“Speaking on physiology, you’re forgetting,” Liara channelled, the first in a long time, her mother. “I have your search history on file, dating back to 2185. It reveals a very particular interest in turian erogenous zones.”

Shepard gaped, and then cursed, and then laughed again. Smiling to herself, Liara counted it as a win.

.

.

**5.**

The frosted dirt crunched under-foot, and Javik fought the urge to scuff at it [to fidget]. There was little on this desolate planet that appealed to him, save the [blessed] silence and thoughtless enemies [eager to die]. Whatever had drawn his people to Garvug had withered long ago.

For almost two hours they had been dodging mercenary vermin [stinking vorcha] and scrabbling over a mountainside to find an opening to a centuries old [krogan] bunker [a fool’s errand]. Supposedly it held prothean data drives that would [supposedly] aid the war effort. He [Javik] had his doubts.

“It was a ‘bargain-world’ originally,” commented the asari [as if he cared], her [glyph] droid darting about rocky ruins. “Gifted to the krogan. They thrived here.”

“Too well, it seems,” sighed the Commander [too weary and knowing for a race so young], clambering over another ridge. “Liara, are you sure the scans said here?”

“Yes,” assured the asari [he doubted her word]. “I suspect the signal is being hindered by the mountain.”

Javik gnashed his teeth; this mission was more suited for [expendable] marines, not the Commander [leader] and a soldier of his [Javik’s] calibre. Yet another thing about this [primitive] cycle and the [primitive] crew he had been thrown alongside. Why the Commander wasted time [effort, bullets] by personally attending such menial search and retrieve operations was beyond all reasoning.

“Over here,” the Commander called, and he and the asari trudged [reluctantly] over to the broken looking bunker mouth Shepard stood over. It was a dilapidated looking thing [rust and rock and weeds]; there wasn’t even a door.

The asari sent forth her [faulty] droid into inscrutable depths, and the Commander motioned they were to follow.

The bunker was old [crude] and the air stale, yet traces of old life lingered [faint, fragile] on the walls. Krogan, of course; their recklessness [passion] were hard to mistake. Their footsteps echoed loudly [through the dead space] as they moved deeper in; anything of value was pilfered long ago.

“They are not the drives you’re looking for,” the [infernal] droid stated, hovering over Shepard as she rummaged through the rusted shell of a [long broken] vehicle. 

“Yes, yes,” the Commander muttered. “No harm in looking.”

It was not until they were deep in the catacombs of the mountain that cold recognition froze Javik’s bones [mouth dry and fingers twitched]. The pattern felt familiar [utilitarian in design], the arch of the tunnels [graceful in their simplicity]. Something in his mind triggered [jolted] and his feet planted on the dusty floor. 

“What is it?” asked the asari; ever ready with her [misguided] curiosity.

“These are prothean ruins,” he replied curtly [only because he had to]. The freckles on her cheek were dark against her skin in the scant light, and her head tilted.

“Yes, the stratigraphic analysis of this complex indicated that it had been appropriated by the krogan. They stripped and repurposed most of the useful artefacts long ago, and I expect what remained after their departure has since been pilfered,” the asari paused then, to peer at him quizzically. “I thought you knew.”

[Damn her].

“Bah,” he scoffed, unwilling [shamed] to admit he’d been caught off guard. Javik hated that a place of his [long dead] people had been so easily supplanted [replaced, removed, reused], that there was nothing left bar what the primitive, barbaric krogan had deemed useful.

How had the glory of the Empire been so easily dismissed [forgotten]? Why did the primitives not tremble in awe [fear] at what relics remained behind? Such thoughts were bitter on his tongue and twisted his mouth into a cruel curl.

[Just ask, asari. Speak your inane theory, I will tear it apart and laugh at your dismay]. But she [the asari] said nothing, merely studied the readings on her omni-tool and turned away.

Shepard had stashed her salvaged loot and watched them like a stern Marbar Ya [eyes sharp and waiting] [like she knew the vitriol clambering at his throat. His eyes narrowed. 

“Play nice, you two,” was all the Commander said [Javik cursed her perceptiveness]. The asari huffed. 

Javik hated their indifference [to his loss, the dying screams of a once proud race].

The data drives, when finally found, were built into the [krogan hacked, prothean] controlled environment system console. Long dead, the computer was [dusty] cracked and torn; it took the asari and her droid [far] too long to locate them midst the wreck. Yet, buried in the heart of the ancient mainframe, the thin data discs were found intact; [gentle] green light lining the edges [like a memory, the echo shard].

Triumph sparked from the asari’s skin, and the Commander wore a pleased smile. Supposedly, this [ancient data salvaged from a ruin] would aid them in the war. To Javik, it just felt like mockery.

The asari held them out [like spoils of war] for his inspection. Javik sneered [eyes raw] and turned away in silence.

.

.

**6.**

Around her, the bustle of the small café provided a welcome backdrop to the infinitely frustrating problem before her. At the very least, Liara told herself, it was nice to be off the Normandy, even if her problems had followed her to the Citadel.

Liara frowned at her data-pad; she had been trying to create a translation cipher for a particular ring of prothean code that surrounded part of the Crucible plans. Some of the glyphs corresponded with earlier translations she had made of prothean writing. Others, it seemed, existed with the sole purpose of thwarting her.

Taking a sip from the orange vhal drink, Liara scrutinised the data results from her latest analysis. One line of characters in particular were giving her trouble, and none of her many tweaks to the coding had borne anything useful. The drink left a tart flavour on her tongue, and Liara hummed as her eyes tracked the screen.

Javik had helped, in his uniquely dismissive way, and he’d warned that coding glyphs of these sort tended to be multi-layered with meaning. Just yesterday he’d listed the secondary and tertiary denotations for a string of connected glyphs. Yet, no matter how she arranged them for analysis, no program could organise the glyphs into a consistent translation that made sense. 

Rubbing her eyes, Liara resigned herself to the fact that something in her research was flawed. Likely, her best option was to re-analyse her original research and begin anew, glyph by glyph. Again. Perhaps she’d missed something in the prothean data from Mars?

Flicking her fingers across the data-pad, Liara scrolled through the indecipherable elements, marking which glyphs she’d originally translated them from. Lips pressed together, she plucked out the problematic code. Most of their major values had come from her own older research, amended since Mars to reflect the newer data they’d collected there.

And, of course, the newer input from-

“Ah, asari. I see your cipher is still unfinished?” 

Fingers fumbling, Liara managed not to drop her data-pad at the deep voice behind her. Ignoring the heat in her cheeks, she turned in her seat to aim a narrow stare in Javik’s direction.

He stepped closer, tilting his triangular head at her silent regard.

“A pity. You’ve made little progress these past few days,” the prothean continued, peering over her shoulder in feigned scholarly concern. She couldn’t help the small flinch away from his closeness. 

Four yellow eyes flickered back to her with a watchful glint. Liara pressed her lips together.

“Yes,” came her short reply. “It seems some of the data is corrupted.”

“How clumsy of you.”

Javik’s expression didn’t change, but a muscle in his cheek betrayed his amusement. Pressing her hands against the table, Liara pushed away from it, from him, and met his level stare. He blinked. A trill ran up over her scalp crests, and Liara squared her jaw. 

“Oh, I’m beginning to suspect it is not my data that is at fault.” Her voice thinned to a hiss.

Somehow, even with the odd lines of his face, he smirked.

Her chair clattered to the ground and Liara shot upward and slammed a hand onto the table. About them, the leisurely crowd were startled alert, but she cared little for ruining the relaxed atmosphere.

“You!” She jabbed a finger into his armoured chest. “You deliberately gave me false information!”

Using his height advantage to loom over her, Javik bared his sharp teeth.

“I gave you data,” he jeered, casually swatting away her accusatory hand. “That you did not think to question it is your own failing.”

Heat sizzled under her skin, and Liara barely held back her biotics. Never mind the anxious crowd, she’d wipe the floor with him for feeding her lies.

“Because I believed we shared the same objective,” she snarled. “How much more of my research is ruined because you get a kick out of messing with those you consider primitive?”

Javik had the nerve to scoff.

“Only when they behave so childishly,” the prothean answered, voice flanging. The amusement had gone from his sharp face and left only disdain. “You trust so little in your own abilities, that only now you have thought to look outside your own research for the flaw?”

“You-“

“Pipe down, the both of you!” A harsh voice cut through the air as a firm hand gripped her shoulder and hauled her back.

Seething, Liara’s fury sputtered as she saw the cranky scowl of her father. Her mouth snapped shut and she straightened, while Javik curled his lip at the gruff matriarch’s intervention. 

Aethyta did not give a damn; she clicked her teeth and sneered right back at him. Her hand pressed firmly against his cuirass to halt any advance. 

“Babe, is this…” Jerking a thumb, her father paused, eyes not shifting from the angry prothean. “…jerk giving you trouble?”

A distant part of Liara’s mind noted that her mother would have ended the conflict with a cutting word, and then scolded her for not doing so sooner. Her pulse thundered; Aethyta looked ready to start a war.

The thrum of sky car traffic over the Presidium continued over the long, tense pause. 

“No.” Her anger fizzled out as quickly as it arrived, and left Liara feeling empty. Clenching her jaw, she scowled so as not to reveal to Javik the wound he’d left. “He was just leaving.”

Aethyta snorted, not budging until Javik took a step back. 

“You heard her,” said her father, straightening as she shot a meaningful glance at the surrounding patrons. There was an awkward re-commencement of background chatter, far too loud and self-aware. Javik tilted his chin up and watched the two asari from under heavy lids.

“Trust is not a luxury you have, asari. Even among your friends,” Javik hissed, stance shifting as he swiped a hand through the air. “Better you learn this now, then at the sharp end of a traitor’s blade.”

His words ran cold down her spine, but Liara refused to flinch. She knew what horrors the Reapers were capable of; little else occupied her Shadow Broker feeds these days.

“Don’t lecture me on trust, or my friends,” Liara snapped, and her father placed a rough hand on her shoulder. To hold her back or urge her on, Liara wasn’t sure. “It’s clear you put no stock in either.”

In the end, it was Liara who stormed off and out of the café. Later, she would call Aethyta and apologise. After, of course, she had found a substitute for lobbing a Singularity Javik’s way.

When at last she boarded the Normandy that evening, an email blinked in her inbox. It contained with no words bar an attachment that listed the corrected code translation. Her anger did not abate, fists clenched at her side, and she avoided his company for the week that followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Javik and Liara intrigue me so much. I've tried my best to stay canon compliant, whilst adding some flavour to a pov from alien characters. Hopefully I've stayed in character.
> 
> Apologies if reading Javik's parts are weird, I wanted a way to demonstrate how differently the prothean's observed the world as opposed to the races of the current cycle. I'd love to hear any thoughts on it. 
> 
> Glossary:  
> Kamada: Prothean word for the imperial court.  
> Marbar Ya: Prothean word for the carers of young.  
> Shihiid: Prothean word for Martyr


	2. Chapter 2

.

.

**7.**

“My people would have never let such monsters walk among them,” he [pointedly] observed in the dark halls of a forsaken monastery.

“They didn’t care for the competition?” The asari’s voice was curt.

“Bah.”

For all her coolness, Javik could taste the [flare of anger] controlled pang of her sorrow in the [too still and silent] air. A [small] part of him revelled in the [sharp] weapon she’d made of her words, approved of the flint in her glare. [If only she’d nurture it].

Still, the asari would need far more [then words, then grim anger] if she were to make any difference for this [dying] cycle. Javik had seen first-hand the ruin a faltering resolve could cause [annihilation] [ruthless calculus a necessity, not a choice]. The lifeless [prison for monsters] monastery about them was testament to that. 

Pitiful, he thought with a sneer, even as she [the asari] knelt beside the fallen commando [limbs akimbo and broken]. With one hand, the asari closed the unseeing eyes of her [dead] compatriot; a hushed prayed tumbled off her tongue [a useless, misplaced kindness].

It was soft, sentimental. War against the Reapers [was a war of attrition] had no room for such things.

The Commander [stern and focused] half-heartedly told them to pipe down; still watching the shadows like a hawk. The asari bowed her head, fingers lingering on the dead commando’s cheek. Javik’s eyes [carefully] studied the place just under her crest where a well-placed strike would kill her.

At the Commander’s signal to move out, the asari stood and set her shoulders [to bear the world’s weight]. A muscle in her jaw clenched. His lip curled.

She’d learn, he knew.

[He had].

.

.

**8.**

Even with the victory on Rannoch and the joy of having Tali permanently on board again; the heavy shroud of the war that hung over the Normandy soon reasserted itself. The Crucible was far from being finished, and every day bought reports of more death and panic to the Shadow Broker’s attention.

Sometimes, even more distressingly, there was an absence of them. Whole colonies and cities fallen silent. Goddess knew how many of her agents lay as silent corpses under rubble. Or as husks. All she could do was wait for their reports and pray.

Sometimes it just wasn’t enough. 

“I’m sorry, Garrus,” Liara repeated, resting a consoling hand on the turian’s plated elbow. “None of my contacts have had any word on your father or your sister.”

The deep, endless length of space was marred by the constant bursts Relay travel light. In the lounge window, it flickered across their solemn faces like a shadow show. A low twang sounded from Garrus’ throat, and the tips of his mandibles quivered. 

“Thanks, Liara. I know you tried,” said Garrus. His bright blue eyes seemed dull in the reflection across the reinforced glass. Goddess knew what she looked like. “It seems selfish somehow, to ask about them-”

“Not at all,” cut in Liara, determined to banish the hopelessness that tinged his voice. “I would have looked for them regardless.”

Garrus chuckled at that, and her spine lost some of its rigidness. Liara patted his armour once more, before withdrawing her hand to rub at her weary eyes. Armour creaked as her friend shifted his stance, and Liara looked up at the prickle of his full regard.

“Yes, but even you need to sleep.” With a talon, Garrus gestured at his cheeks. It took a moment for her to realise he was miming the navy blue bags under her eyes. “You burn almost as much daylight as Shepard.”

She blinked slowly. 

“Pardon?”

His mandibles fluttered in embarrassment and he tucked his chin in. 

“Uh…” The sheepishness of his tone was delightful, especially for a turian. “It’s a human…idiom…thing.”

One of Garrus’ hands flailed, and it reminded her of the brash yet uncertain C-Sec officer he’d been at their first meeting. Laughter bubbled up from her belly and Liara chuckled into her hand.

“Hmm. However you manage to pick them up, I’ll never know.”

Garrus rolled his eyes and bared his teeth in the approximation of a turian grin.

“Certainly not the company I keep,” he quipped.

Liara laughed through her teeth, and turned her gaze back to the distant stars. It was a good thing, she thought, taking comfort from friends. Liara had never considered it something she’d needed until Shepard had charged into her life. Hadn’t thought to miss it until the Collector beam had destroyed the Normandy SR-1.

Sighing, Liara tried not to dwell on the dark years that had followed. 

“Garrus, I’m glad she has you,” she said suddenly, and smiled at the baffled look on her friend’s face. “I don’t think anyone could take care of her the way you do.”

He shifted his stance, to appear unaffected, but the tense line of his torso and his careful gaze gave the game up.

“I just…do my best,” came Garrus’ stumbling answer. “Someone has to watch her six.”

Something sweet and sad tightened in the asari’s chest. She and Garrus had never spoken about Shepard, not properly. Had not needed too, changed as Liara had been by her personal vendetta against the old Shadow Broker. She’d had no place on the suicide mission to the Omega-4 Relay. 

The young archaeologist, Liara T’Soni, had been in awe of Shepard; her boldness and strength. And then she had died, only to rise from the ashes like a goddess of old Thessia, and Liara could not be the anchor that saved the Commander from the storm.

“I know,” she told Garrus, making sure he knew her to be in earnest. “I’m just glad. I worry. She looks so tired.”

Something in his stance tensed before easing, and Garrus nodded once as he tilted his head back.

“Why, T’soni,” he drawled, cocking one hip as he stepped forward. “Are you asking if I’m keeping the Commander up at night?”

Liara shot him an indifferent glance, never mind the twitch of a smile on her lips.

“Well, are you?” She folded her arms and turned to him fully, expression wry.

It took only a moment for Garrus to break the silence with a chuckle of his own. She hummed in amusement; apparently he saved his poker face for teasing Shepard. Clearing his throat, the turian retreated, brushing his talons over his fringe.

“Well damn, you’ve certainly changed. For the better,” Garrus added quickly when Liara raised a questioning brow. “You’re much more self-assured then that awkward scientist we picked up on Therum.”

“Like you were much better,” Liara scoffed.

“Heh, I always had more swagger,” he countered.

Her teeth flashed in a grin.

“Well, no one accused you of being modest.”

“Hn.” Garrus rubbed his crest again, and looked back out at the stars. “I feel like our resident prothean has me beat in that regard.”

That something squirmed in her gut surprised her. Unfolding her arms, Liara stared down at her cerulean fingers, now laced together.

“Oh, undeniably.”

Garrus snapped his head back to her at that. Had something in her voice let slip her unease? Certainly Javik was not the easiest to get along with; sometimes it felt as if the prothean provoked her for the sole purpose of seeing Liara angry.

“Not quite what you hoped for?” She looked up at his gentle tone; expression so very earnest. Liara began to understand how Shepard had fallen for the turian.

Shaking her head, Liara tried not to wallow in her own confused emotions. She was the Shadow Broker now, and there was a war. She had shed a lot of the softness of her youth years ago.

“No,” She answered, a small furrow in her brow. “But then, nothing ever is. At least he’s honest about his disdain.”

Garrus chortled at that.

“Yeah, he’s certainly not afraid to voice his opinions.”

“Or informing you that yours is wrong,” she answered dryly.

They stood a moment longer in the lounge, watching the stars. Eventually, Garrus shrugged his shoulders, mandibles clacking as he gave her a long look.

“If he gives you too much trouble, T’soni, you know where to find me,” he told her. Liara bit down on her chuckle; his concern made her warm, even if it was unneeded.

“In the main battery, calibrating giant guns?” Her tone was innocent. Garrus’ responding snort said he didn’t by it. He put a hand over her heart and staggered as if wounded.

“Ouch, wow,” he groused. “You know what, you’re on your own.”

“So much for turian honour,” Liara shot back at him.

Garrus shook his head again, and sighed like a matriarch babysitting maidens. Giving her a mock salute, the turian turned to the door. A wave of affection for him, for the Normandy, swept through her.

“Garrus,” she called out. “Thanks.”

“No trouble, Liara,” came his sincere response, proud profile silhouetted against the door’s light.

It was very quiet without him.

.

.

**9.**

_You care about Liara. You like her. And you like me, too!_

The quarian’s [unwanted] drunken call left him vexed and agitated. Why she [Tali] of all people kept pestering him was beyond all logic [misplaced kindness?]. Javik could practically taste the [cheap] alcohol in her system, even over the comm-system. If her [unwise] intoxicated state induced the quarian into an act of foolishness that damaged the enivro-suit, it would be well deserved [petty, but satisfying].

Flexing his long fingers [tender and aching], Javik dipped them into the water-bath again. He felt compromised [conflicted, unsure], tainted by the compassion of this wretched cycle. 

Even the Commander, whose leadership he cannot fault [regardless of her insistence on diplomacy], concerned herself [overly] with the sentiments of her crew [a mistake]. He had not spoken to the asari [Liara] to comfort her, only to prepare her [steel her heart] for the battles ahead.

He could still taste them in the air; the hot stink of the asari’s anger [disgust] barely covered the deep whirls of her anguish [billowing out like thunderclouds against his senses]. Shepard’s concern [grief, stress, frustration], battened down by phenomenal restraint.

How dare she [the asari] blame him [Javik] [last soldier of the Prothean Empire] for Thessia’s fall? As if the [primitive] asari, galactic leaders, would have been anything else but another tributary race under a prothean thumb if not for their passing [failure]. The shattered corpse of his Empire [the echoes of their warnings] littered the galaxy; a [crushing] testament of their own inability to fight against the Reapers.

In the water-bath, his hands clenched. The bones of his knuckles strained [and popped] against greenish-grey of his [sensitive] skin.

Yet, [righteous] anger did not boil his blood, rising hot to taint his tongue [and cut down all accusations and presumptions]. Javik felt…empty [hollow, confused]. Thessia had fallen, as countless [countless] worlds had fallen. How had she [the asari] expected anything else? 

[By the end] prothean’s had known nothing but war and death and desperation. The Reapers had seen to it that nothing else mattered [existed]. They [his people] had fought to the bitter end, one [futile] plan of attack after another. From Ilos to the Crucible, all had ended in failure. 

[Sometimes he still cannot comprehend the breadth and depth of their failure].

“Why are you asking me these same questions again?” Javik had asked her.

“Because your previous answers were not satisfactory,” she snidely answered.

Wisdom and knowledge had had been early casualties [alongside kindness and mercy], and he, a soldier [filled to the brim with vengeance], could not provide the [unwise] asari doctor with the answers she [desperately] craved [hoped for]. Maybe in another life [a useless dream], he might have been bred for more than war.

It shouldn’t, then, ease his heart to hear that his words had helped the asari [Liara]. The quarian held them up like a candle, illuminating the better part of his nature. They [his words] were lies [generous versions of the truth]. He’d told the Commander as much. The asari had the mettle to fight on [if only she remembered it], and forging it had been Javik’s only objective.

How else was he to ensure the destruction of the most hated enemy of his people? The sound of slapping water echoed throughout the empty cargo hold [his shard’s shadow seemed heavy].

He should [did not, no, no] not consider her hope a victory.

.

.

**10.**

Her mouth popped open when Joker told her that Shepard had sent Javik to the med-bay with a stern word to follow Dr Chakwas’ order by the letter. They were halfway to Horizon, and the only possible explanation that Liara could conceive of is that Shepard had finally reached the end of her infinite patience and put the prothean there herself. Mostly likely soon after he began a sentence with ‘in my cycle’. 

She was partially right. 

“He’s ill?”

“Yeah, crazy, huh?” Joker’s voice on the com-link was full of glee. “All of a sudden, he just slumped over in the mess hall. Took, like, three marines to drag his arse to Chakwas.”

Liara found herself blinking rapidly at her computer screen, still baffled. Javik always gave off an air of indomitability. Joker was still chortling to himself when she abruptly stood and left the room.

Her wandering feet led her to the med-bay. At the door, Liara paused; it was silly, she knew him to be alright. Doctor Chakwas was a more than competent doctor. What, then, had elevated her pulse and shortened her breath? 

It was only Javik, probably even more ill-tempered than usual. No need to be nervous. Chiding herself, Liara quashed her internal ramblings and stepped through. Chakwas looked up owlishly from her computer. 

“I only just heard,” Liara began, suddenly feeling very young. “How is he?”

The doctor sighed and leaned back in her chair.

“He’ll recover,” she said dryly. “His pride, though...”

Liara most definitely did not giggle.

“What happened?” she asked, composure regained.

“A self-treated scratch, done badly, turned into a minor infection,” Chakwas tapped her fingers against the desk, before picking up a data-pad. “Of course, being in stasis for 50,000 years has left his immune system woefully out of touch. I also suspect he has also acquired the flu.”

Liara blinked at that, and then wondered why she hadn’t considered that factor earlier. Javik had never seemed ill. Then again, he was constantly cranky and nearly always dismissive, so she supposed it would have been hard to tell.

“Not too life-threatening, then?”

“No,” Chakwas replied, leaning back to speak pointedly at the patient beds behind her. “And if he’d been taking the immuno-boosters as I’d advised, he’d likely have been fine.”

“Enough, human,” came a muffled voice from behind a curtain. “You’ve made your point.”

Chakwas pressed her lips together and raised her brows at Liara in a look of extreme long-suffering.

“Good,” said the doctor, rising from her chair and striding to the door before Liara had time to blink. “I’ll leave you to it, Dr T’Soni.”

The med-bay door swished closed, leaving the room silent but for the frequent beep of machinery and the occasional wheeze. 

“Spare me your mockery, asari,” Javik said at last. “I have no energy for it.”

Liara huffed, walking to the privacy curtain and gently eased it open.

He did look in poor shape. For the first time in her presence, he was devoid of all armour. The skin of Javik’s face was very sallow, and the luminous yellow of his eyes had dulled to a pale, sickly colour ringed by fluid. Liara tracked the line of his wide shoulders under the thin, hospital blanket; Javik looked startlingly frail with so many tubes and wires plugged into him. 

“I didn’t come here to mock,” she told him mildly as she approached the bed.

“Then leave.” Javik coughed wetly and shot her a weak glare. “Your incessant questions must wait.”

“Oh!” Liara felt her face flush at his haughtiness, and defiantly sat down in the lonely chair beside him. “I came to see if you were alright, you insufferable-”

“Unnecessary,” he cut off her barrage of oncoming insults. “The human doctor is…adequate.”

Liara tutted, flicking her omni-tool on so that she could ignore his crankiness and work on an extended cipher of prothean glyphs. Poor Chakwas, she thought; the doctor had likely been the sole recipient of Javik’s personable conversation.

“High praise, coming from you,” she said nonchalantly, and Javik grunted in response. It was not far from the usual manner of their dialogue.

Fingers darting over her tool, Liara pointedly did not ask Javik for his opinion on her work. She didn’t trust him not to mess her around. He seemed content with her silent presence, making only the occasional noise of mild discomfort. Every so often, Liara cast an eye at the prothean. He seemed not to notice; staring dully at the ceiling as he was. Crossing her legs, she read over the latest report from Feron.

“Gnnh.” The noise he made was thick, damp and full of misery.

Sighing, Liara shut down her omni-tool and turned her attention to the invalid. Eyes squeezed shut, Javik writhed under the blanket, teeth bared.

“What is it?” Liara finally asked

“Say it,” he groaned, tossing his head from side to side. Liara blinked.

“Say what?”

“Anything.” Pale eyes turned her way, but they were unfocused and agitated. Biting her lip, Liara glanced over the monitor beside his bed. There was nothing drastic, but his temperature and heart rate had mildly increased. If they went higher, she’d contact Chakwas.

In the meantime, Liara brought up her omni-tool again and browsed through the Broker feeds relating to Javik.

“Well,” she began, noting the way he twitched at the sound of her voice. “Since Eden Prime, I have received near five hundred requests for information confirming your existence and any other details that have come to light. Many of those are from Kahje, direct from the Illuminated Primacy. A few are from various religious authorities, and at least one hanar celebrity, who has asked for a photoshoot...”

He coughed wetly, enough to make Liara pause.

“Can I get you anything?”

One hand waved aimlessly, and Javik’s head fell to one side.

“Your kindness is…unnecessary,” he told her, struggling to maintain his usual, conceited tone. Liara tilted her head to the side and studied his pitiful expression.

He was, undoubtedly, an arrogant, rude arse most of the time. A soldier, a survivor, and the last of his kind. Certainly, Liara had struggled to reconcile the idealistic notions of the protheans from her youth with the raw reality that was Javik. But they were comrades, of a sort, and in this war they were all soldiers. 

“Would you like me to go?” she asked. The confused pause told her he’d expected her to get offended.

“No,” he eventually replied, weary and muddled.

“Then I will continue to tell you about the many interesting beliefs the hanar hold about the protheans. You will, no doubt, be very amused by their inaccuracy.” 

“Alright,” mumbled Javik, so she continued.

.

.

**11.**

It was a foolish exercise; socialization and inebriation bred nothing but a [dangerous] lack of discipline. Prothean soldiers [like him, Javik] had been heavily regulated in his cycle; all effort, all thought went into the war effort. Soldiers were [expendable] pebbles thrown against the rising tide, and little consideration [none] had been given to their well-being.

Javik stared at the [blue, purple] colourful drink in his hands. A [pretty] pink parasol poked out the top, and his straw was unnecessarily curly. 

Intoxication was liberating; he understood [relished] that. Every limb felt loose and at ease [he should be panicked, at the ready], but the sweet buzz of the beverage covered his anxieties [hid his cares]. Blinking slowly, Javik raised his glass for a sip, almost smiling at the pop and bang of flavours that crashed [gloriously] through his mouth. 

Pheromones [emotions] clogged the air in an unseemly manner. It should have sickened him [sloppy, careless primitives], yet their potency gave him delight. His comrades were [unwittingly and wonderfully] transparent before him; their feelings, a tapestry for him to pluck at. The thought made him giggle.

Meeting the varied personalities [misfits, the lot] he’d only tasted from the Normandy left Javik hungry [for what?]. Their [varied] reactions to his presence was immensely entertaining, and he’d wanted to touch them [know them] and feel [the brightness of] their lives.

Of Jack [tattooed human], and her anger, he was particularly fond [rage tempered now by duty. He found that hopeful, in some way]. She and the artificial human [Miranda] clashed wonderfully, though their jagged edges were soft [their battle was a comfort, a ritual].

That the young krogan had a fledgling [amorous] affection for the asari [Liara] amused [distracted] him greatly. All evening, he’d watched as he [Grunt] had found shiny [blue] things to show the patient [blue] asari. 

[She did not shun him like she ought][why?].

The future did not exist for a prothean soldier, but if something [a future] existed beyond the war, Javik deemed that working with the grizzled human [Zaeed] would be acceptable. The old mercenary had a keen [ruthless] mind for battle, and lacked the [tiring] emotionality of his kind [Shepard, Vega, Cortez, Traynor].

His [the human] conversation was certainly far more sensible [forging an empire!] than the [idle] chatter at the poker table, though not as diverting as tricking the primitives [Vega, T’Soni].

[He wondered if he was lonely].

Somewhere, the two krogan attempted to help the crippled pilot’s [laughable, lamentable] aim. Occasionally, a bottle burst [too complacent for alarm] with a delightful tinkle, and the human whooped in triumph while the krogan laughed at him [no, they cheered].

A loud snore disrupted Javik’s musings, and he turned to find the old mercenary slumped back on the couch [throat bare], asleep.

“Primitives,” he muttered, before downing the remainder of his drink. Clambering to his feet, the last of the protheans stumbled toward the kitchen. Somehow, he would find another [colourful] drink.

Heavy music [thumping] resounded from the impromptu dance ritual. Even in his compromised state, Javik found it overwhelming [sense nodes screaming]. He threw up one hand, as if to ward off the [physical] [hot and heavy] joy flooding his every pore. All he achieved, however, was scattering the ice from his drink [glass] all over the floor. 

[Now his tiny parasol was gone] [lamentable].

A small gasp startled Javik from his mourning [the pink parasol], head jerked up to find the [blue] asari, hands raised in [clumsy] alarm.

“I didn’t see you there,” she told him [stupidly]. She [Liara] had been cleaning the kitchen, sloppily, and uncertainty poured off her skin [why?]. Javik chuckled as he sidled [stumbled] up to kitchen bench and rested his arms on it. 

Good, it was sturdy. His balance was not…optimal [abysmal].

“Are you not dancing, asari?” he asked [teased]. Her eyes were very wide and blue. “Even in my cycle, your kind was renowned for their elegance and grace.”

“No!” Her skin flushed dark [prettily], and she seemed very young in her embarrassment [fingers fidgeted]. “I…was never much of a dancer.”

“A pity,” Javik grasped the counter [for balance] as he leered, happy at the [familiar] cross scoff he received in response. 

“Wait,” the asari [Liara] peered at him, as if from over a canyon [curiosity][how predictable]. “Protheans enjoyed asari dancing?”

Javik grinned, letting all of his sharp teeth show. Oh, the things she did not know.

“It was considered the height of fashion to…acquire asari to dance for the Kamada.” She didn’t need to know that such opulent [sensuous] displays ended long before his birth [ah, to have lived in the Golden Age of the Empire].

[She would have hated it, he wouldn’t have cared].

“You mean as slaves,” the asari [Liara] snapped. Spikes of anger struck his senses, boosted by intoxicants, which took him off guard [she hid most often behind professionalism]. His elbows slipped on the [cursed] counter, and it required too much of Javik’s concentration to prop himself up again.

“The research on Thessia was costly,” he mumbled into the [blissfully] cold counter-top, tongue thick and clumsy. “Asari were used to encourage…funding.”

He gestured lazily at the asari. Her face flushed dark [again], and Javik found himself tracking the [indigo] colour as it spread over her freckled [like a star-scape] cheeks.

“That is awful,” she told him emphatically [earnestly], stumbling forward to catch herself on his counter. Her words bled together. “Awful. We’re not things!”

[We were nothing but the weapons we wielded] [who told him that?].

When Javik [blearily] looked up, she was far closer than expected. Crossness and confusion seeped off the asari’s [pebbled] skin. Some part of his mind sought to counter [her indignation] with the premature [failed] uplift of the krogan, but small creases around her nose marked her [harmless] scowl and he wanted to prod them.

[He wanted to prod her, poke at her soft spots and see her angry] [wanted to feel her vitality] [there were no words for what he wanted] [he was a soldier].

“Hey asari. Liara,” the words tumble off his [Javik] tongue like a varren after meat scraps. [Her lips parted at the sound of her name]. “I will show you. Let me touch you. For science!”

Surely, she would refuse [for fear and dislike], but her mouth set in a determined line. Before he could goad [challenge, dare] her further, Liara [the asari] thrust her [damp] hand in his face.

Javik remembered little after that [sensation, a blur][loneliness, fury, woe][a figure in yellow/a figure in black][blue eyes, a smile]. 

The next morning found him alone in a bathroom [remembering little again]. He was grateful [disappointed] not to recall more than the vaguest of impressions of the asari’s soul. Yet, whenever he caught sight of Liara, the image of a small [asari] child in a dirty dress, beaming at the rock in her hands, flitted through his [aching] mind. 

He did not mind.

.

.

**12.**

Something exploded, and the shuttle rattled dangerously as it dipped and swerved. Somewhere to her left, James swore and blood bloomed in her mouth; Liara had bit her tongue when her head hit the wall. All over came the vile klaxon of the Reapers. Bile rose in her throat and Liara clung to the hand rails like it was her life.

This descent would kill them. Oh, she was sure of it. 

Their trajectory evened out again, and with shaking hands, Liara made herself sit.

“Y’all ok?” James asked. Javik grunted in response. Liara nodded numbly.

Another unnatural scream seared past the shuttle, and her whole body flinched away from the sound. She had thought herself a soldier, but not like this. The battlefield over London was like Athame’s Fifth Descent. 

“You are afraid,” Javik stated, voice flat as their shuttle shuddered again.

Swallowing the hard lump in her throat, Liara looked away. She’d been so ready to fight, tooth and nail, right by Shepard’s side. Worked so hard to get them and the Crucible to this moment, and Liara so desperately wanted to protect everything she dreaded to lose.

But the Commander was on another Goddess-forsaken shuttle, her father was probably lying dead in the hijacked Citadel and Liara was rattled and scared with a stubborn human and an arrogant prothean, both of who knew how to bury their fear. 

So much for the hardened Shadow Broker she’d sought to become.

“I am a little unnerved,” replied Liara tersely, damning the waver in her voice.

Javik grunted, and she heard him shift. When Liara dared herself to look up, he was right by her side. Gripping the rails above her seat, the prothean stared at her unblinkingly. 

“You are afraid for the future.”

For a moment, Liara hated him. Hated that she’d thought she’d be ready, that he could smell her terror, had become numb to his own. 

“I have no such fear,” Javik told her blandly, and Liara wished he’d smirk or tease her, if only so she’d be angry enough to hit back. “I have only ever been a soldier. An Avatar of Vengeance.”

“Yes, I get it,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “I’m woefully unprepared for this, I know!”

Another explosion sounded somewhere nearby, and their pilot cursed.

“I will write your book with you,” Javik said at last, and there was an odd note to his tone that made her swallow.

“What?” whispered Liara, startled out of her terror and unable to look away. From her angle she could see the grim line of his mouth, down-turned at the corners. The intensity of his presence pressed against her skin, making her crest prickle. 

Liara barely remembered making the offer; it had been right before they’d chased after the Illusive Man. She’d meant it as a peace offering, of sorts. An acknowledgement of her own naivety. Liara hadn’t thought he’d consider it seriously; Javik hadn’t seemed to enjoy her company, but they’d come to some kind of strange accord over the course of the war. Her awkward proposition and his surprised reaction seemed a lifetime away.

His impatient look spoke miles; Javik would not repeat himself.

“We’ll have to survive this, first,” she told him, voice shaking as their shuttle dipped again.

“Yes,” Javik agreed, dipping his head in affirmation. She drew a sharp intake of breath at the gold of his eyes shining through the shadows on his face. “We will.”

Her frantic heart skipped a beat at the confidence in his voice. It sounded like a promise, if such a thing could be made at this time. Instead of objecting, Liara found herself answering with a firm nod.

Outside, a dirty fight raged. _Somehow_ , she thought, _I will survive this. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each segment was meant to be a short fragment, but they keep growing. Why does every character have to be so fun to write dialogue for?
> 
> Also, trying to write a drunk, handsy prothean is hard.
> 
> The next chapters will delve into post-game stuff, which is interesting. I have no idea about half the things I'm writing about.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed it.  
> Glossary:  
> Kamada: Prothean word for the imperial court.  
> Marbar Ya: Prothean word for the carers of young.  
> Shihiid: Prothean word for Martyr


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-war blues.

.

.

**13.**

When Javik finally found her, the shadows stretched long as the [ailing] sun dipped behind the horizon. The quarian [Tali] knew her friend well, it seemed [her voice had been sly when he’d inquired to Liara’s location]. Frustration [relief] balled in Javik’s chest to see the asari sitting [legs crossed, eyes closed, pistol holstered] so quietly beside the Normandy’s distress beacon. That she saw fit to wander about this alien world unattended demonstrated a [disturbing] lack of self-preservation. 

Curses flitted through Javik’s mind as he approached the asari [biotics shimmered over her skin]. Simply because nothing more threatening than a space cow had been encountered, did not mean that the remote moon the Normandy had crashed on was devoid of any threat.

Never mind that they still did not know the fate of the galaxy. [Javik doubted victory. Had to].

A growl rose in his throat; the [foolish] asari was so deep in her meditations that she had not even noticed his arrival. Careless [dangerous], and his jaw clenched as Javik stepped closer.

Her eyes snapped open, and the asari threw out a hand. A [bright] bolt of biotic power flew off her fingers, and [instinctively] Javik’s own biotic green flared as he slammed down the oncoming Stasis [heat burned through his veins at the impact]. Already [primed for battle] his other hand gripped the rifle on his back as the asari staggered to her feet [half a second too slow] [enough time to shoot].

[Indoctrination]. Horror ran through his lungs. [They found us] [Shepard failed] [why her].

She stumbled and fell forward, and laughed. Javik froze [what?], rifle [primed for the kill-shot] at the ready.

“Javik,” Liara [the asari] said, eyes light as she sat up [dirt smeared on her hands and knees]. “I apologise. I didn’t realise it was you.”

He choked [grief, relief], hearts still thundering as his fingers trembled. Even now, [with her expression so open] he thought he ought to kill her [how could he be sure it was not a ruse?] [take the shot] [he’d fallen for it before].

But the asari sighed at his stoicism and turned [left herself open] to knead at the muscles in her thighs. Javik could still strike her down [she did not smell of deceit]. Her lashes were dark against freckled cheeks [was not wary of him]. Deep bruises hung under her eyes [weariness, stress, grief], he noticed, and wondered that he’d not before. The asari must have been meditating for a long while, for her legs to cramp so badly.

It took every ounce of effort to holster his rifle [you are a soldier], and far too long to speak through constricted mess of his throat [he wanted to sob]. 

“It is unwise for you to be here all alone,” he managed.

“I came prepared,” the asari told him loftily, small fingers working out the knots in her calves [distracting]. A corner of her mouth twitched. “Were you worried for me?”

[Yes][No]. He clacked his teeth and turned away so that he did not have to see her amusement. She did not know how close she had come to death [at his hand][terrifying].

“What were you hoping to achieve?” Javik asked instead, tracking the slow descent of the sun.

“I had a thought to try and boost the signal,” answered the asari [Liara T’Soni], and he heard her sigh. “It didn’t work.” 

He was still angry at her [alarmed]. 

“You should not have come alone,” Javik repeated, resisting the urge to rub his [aching] hands. Residue from their biotic clash still fizzled underneath his skin [brief, bright]. She ought to have left the tech to the quarian.

A small groan came from behind him, alongside the shuffle of the asari’s rising.

“Are you afraid that the Reapers could still be out there?” Her voice was measured [not demure], yet he turned, eyes narrow to glare [at her foolishness].

“And are you not?” Javik snapped.

The asari looked away at that, turned her [blue] eyes to the faintly forming stars [already this cycle could be over]. Beside them, the beacon pulsed faintly. The mating cry of the local wildlife filled the air. 

Javik changed the weight of his stance uncomfortably; he did not understand the wistfulness of her expression [like a shihiid], nor the serenity pouring off her skin [he would not let it sooth him].

“We do not know the extent or range of whatever the Commander did, or its permanency,” Javik reminded her harshly, wanting her to flinch [shatter the peace of her belief]. “It is likely that which will answer the beacon will be a Reaper force.”

“I don’t believe that.” And she [Liara] said it with such quiet conviction, that Javik’s lips curled back to bare his teeth.

“Is it so hard to comprehend that the Commander might have failed?” He stepped forward, trying to break the halo of composure the asari had built around herself [why did she believe so unfalteringly?]. His hands itched to reach out and shake her, but Javik did not think he could stand [afraid of] what he would read from her.

“No,” Liara shook her head, and her smile was small [sad] as she met his angry gaze. “I know she was successful. Or, perhaps I just can’t comprehend a universe where all that we did, all we fought for, came to nothing.”

Naivety then [self-inflicted], let the asari be [imprudently] fearless. Nothing was certain, Javik knew. In all likelihood, the Crucible [the last weapon of his people] had failed, taking Shepard along with it. 

They were safe, for the moment, on this [lonely, far-flung] moon. But if the Reapers had survived [Javik could not dismiss the possibility][crushing as it was to consider], then their remoteness would not hide them long. 

[It hurt him, her hope].

“Many could not conceive of the Empire falling, even towards the end of my cycle,” Javik tried not to seethe [scold], but somehow he must make her see that this was not a victory [they were not yet nearly close to being saved]. “I did not expect you to succumb to such self-delusion.”

A small huff came from her [dark] lips, and he marvelled at how Liara refused to rise to his provocation. It had never been a challenge to raise her ire before [it had been a delight]. 

“Is that what it is?” Liara’s voice was [too] gentle [to be for him]. “I prefer to think of it as faith.” 

The sentimentality made him want to be sick.

“Bah. Faith?” Javik scorned [disgusted][disappointed]. “Nothing but blind hope, masking the weak from panic.”

That drew a frown from her. The asari crossed her arms and clenched her jaw.

“You should talk to talk to the Lt. Commander,” her reply was cool. “I’m sure she’d happily school you on the matter.”

Javik ignored her rebuttal; Spectre Williams’ belief in a higher power [god] was a remnant superstition common to all primitive species [as if the universe were benevolent]. He had no time for the false salvation [lies] it promised.

“Tell me, Doctor,” Javik asked, looming over the asari to find the chinks in her armour [he would make her see]. “What would you do if your faith in Shepard was misplaced, and Reapers descend upon this planet?”

Liara blinked up at him, frown fading to an older, more solemn expression that [he found] did not suit her. It drew his breath short [why], and Javik found he regretted [lamented] pulling [tearing] at her serenity until it was banished. Her [low] sorrow pressed at his senses, and Javik almost raised his hands to bat it away. 

“I suspect,” the asari’s breath was heavy [with care], and her eyes glimmered. “I will do what any of us would do, Javik. You should not need to ask that question.”

[She was right].

It was not right, for the asari [Liara] to look so reconciled with her own end, for him to regret his words. 

Javik imagined the Reapers descending from the sky [like a dark rain], klaxons screaming as they burned through wreck that was the Normandy. Of how her fear and grief and determination [to die well] would consume her last moments [blot out her light] before they [Reapers] took her and tore [tortured] at her body until she was naught but the twisted monsters [banshees] they made of her people. [It hurt to think of her face, perverted beyond recognition as she screeched for death].

[No]. 

Javik resolved, in that moment, that should the dreaded worst come to pass [should the Reapers find them], he would put a bullet in the back of her head before her faith had a chance to crumble [he would spare her that].

It would be a kind thing [a mercy], for both of them.

And still, she [Liara] looked at him with no fear.

“This is why I have no stock in faith, asari,” Javik found his voice too raw for his liking. “Having it broken would surely kill you.”

He span on his heel and stalked away, unwilling to spend another moment with her [hear her objection]. He was unwilling to let himself be moved [sentiment was a soldier’s bane]. 

Their trek back to camp was blissfully silent. 

.

.

**14.**

When Garrus held back the plaque with Shepard’s name and shook his head, Liara’s breath caught in her throat and her heart stuttered. He did not say a word, he didn’t have to, and the crew stepped back to let the scarred turian limp away.

Beside her, Javik’s mouth turned ever downwards.

“More blind faith from you, Doctor?” he asked her, and Liara would have slapped him but for the welling tears she felt spilling onto her cheeks. 

She ducked her head and hugged herself; no doubt Javik would cast it as more useless sentiment. Liara did not care; her faith in Shepard had been well placed. Not a day ago their beacon had picked up a signal bouncing out from, what Traynor theorised was, an unmanned Alliance data drone spouting a message in morse-code that detailed the Reapers’ destruction. Three tense months grounded on an unidentified garden world, and finally they knew that the Crucible had done its job annihilating a cosmic horror. 

No word on Shepard though, and Anderson dead. That had been enough to dampen the Normandy’s celebrations, even without the knowledge that the Mass Relays were gone, and all synthetics shut down. Poor Joker did not smile much anymore.

Javik shifted his stance; she could feel his discomfort. The line that ran down his bottom lip trembled with unsaid feeling. Liara scrubbed her face.

“What were the chances,” she said softly, looking up at the impassive face that peered at her, “that we would all get out of this alive?”

He did not have an answer, merely lowered his eyes and tipped his head. She knew Javik grieved for Shepard too, in his own particular way. Or maybe he’d been conditioned to accept loss as an inevitability.

“Shepard was an Avatar of Victory,” Javik said suddenly. “Her death does not change that.”

It was the closest he’d ever come to apologizing, and Liara tried to smile at him through her tears to show she understood.

Later, as Liara helped Tali back to the med-bay, she thought about Garrus’ conviction. She’d known in her heart that Shepard had defeated the Reapers despite the long months of silence. Was believing her to be still alive so far-fetched? 

Chakwas nodded to them both as they entered, attention firmly on the bottle of Serrice Ice Brandy in her shaking hands. Tali sighed at the sight, but they made no comment; everyone aboard the Normandy was dealing with some form of sorrow.

“What do you think?” Liara asked Tali as she eased the sickly quarian onto the bed. Suit ruptures and malnutrition had severely weakened her friend, but Tali had insisted on attending the memorial. “Do we give Shepard the benefit of the doubt?”

The young quarian hummed as she hooked her suit up to the monitor. 

“Well,” Tali replied thoughtfully. “If Garrus hasn’t given up yet, then neither will I.”

Her response made Liara smile.

“Fair enough, I suppose,” she chuckled, helping Tali with the trickier wiring. After it was done, her friend nestled back into the bed, arms folded over her belly. Liara watched the slight rise and fall of her chest, desperately trying not to think about what would happen if they didn’t come across some dextro-friendly food soon.

“I still can’t believe she did it,” Tali admitted quietly, wonder hitching her voice. “I mean, I hoped, but to hear it…”

Liara’s eyes burned and her tongue felt thick and clumsy.

“Shepard always got the job done,” she replied unsteadily.

Tali was quick to turn her face to hers, eyes sharp even through the mask. Liara blinked, and tried not to look away.

“Oh, Liara,” said Tali emphatically, reaching out a thin hand to grip her own. Shaking her head, Liara returned it with a squeeze.

“I hope…,” the asari stammered, and tried again. “Oh I…if only I could have…”

If only she’d stayed with Shepard. If only she could reach Feron and her Shadow Broker contacts. If only someone would find them.

“I know,” Tali told her. “I know.”

.

.

**15.**

The gravity fields that had held the water-beds had been lost [alongside the AI] [all that noise and then silence], leaving the floor of his former quarters slick and dangerous. They were empty now [months later], but something in the plumbing had been broken, leaving a few of the lower decks with minor flooding. Any loose wiring had long since been cut off from any source of power, leaving the room dark and lifeless [the gloom left the ship like a corpse] [it should not seem so]. The large screens were smashed beyond repair.

Javik wasn’t particular moved by the dilapidated state of the room; prothean soldiers held little value in such transient attachments [had always been on the move, on to the next mission]. Still, he missed the solitude. The crew barracks where he’d been placed were [decidedly] not ideal; the human marines stank due to their entirely non-existent emotional reticence [he did not like the taste of them and their dreams].

Scuffing his foot against some broken wall panelling, Javik wondered what exactly he was doing. He’d left the Echo Shard in these quarters prior to the final push against the Reapers. Looking down at the mess, a slow breath rolled off his tongue; Javik had almost given the shard to Shepard [a gift of gratitude] [the memory of his people]. After all, who else in the galaxy could have read it? Only him, now.

It had been a half formed thought [at best]; find the shard midst the mess and pour his memories into it. The Echo Shard ought to have an account of this cycle’s war, as viewed by a prothean [the last voice of his people]. Seemed appropriate now he knew the War was over [had to remind himself still].

The thought made him swallow hard, stuck as they were in a liminal state [at peace, yet still struggling for survival]. Tensions were strained, thread with worry [the quarian, Tali, was fading fast]. Only the [flinty] authority of Lt. Commander Williams held the Normandy’s crew in line. She ran them tight, aiming to outlast the thankless rock they were trapped on until rescue came. Williams had much of Shepard’s forcefulness, and none of her tact. Once he would have revelled at the style of command. Now it just grated on him [he’d had enough] [tired of the regiment of war].

[Was he growing soft?] [or old?]

Crouching down near the shelving where the shard had been stored, Javik dipped a hand into the hole torn into the floor tiles. 

He felt the soft hum [almost a greeting] of the Echo Shard before his [sensitive] fingers brushed its cool surface. It sparked against his skin [to see and know his own kind again], but he held back the connection. It was tempting, [more then he wanted to admit].

Leaning back to rest on his heels, Javik studied the small fragment of his people’s legacy. Now it lay, nestled in his palm, he half wished he hadn’t found the cursed thing. It brushed against his mind, waiting for immersion like a spider in its web [shiver]. Imprinting his memories would mean reliving those already resting within [but he missed his people, his Empire] [it was so hard to communicate with the primitives] [so clumsy]. The Commander had advised to let their ghosts lie sleeping [in the shard, in his hearts] [the pain of loss was muted after 50,000 years of sleep], and Javik wanted to see out this future of hers unburdened.

“Are you alright?”

The query startled him out of his reverie, almost causing Javik to lose balance [fumbled like a youngling]. The asari [of course it was the asari] lingered in the open doorway, one hand resting on the frame.

Javik shook his head free from the internal cobwebs and rose, tucking the shard into his armour [relief] [denial] [a well-timed distraction]. Liara’s bright eyes tracked the movement, saw her tongue touch her teeth to ask a question that [surprisingly] did not come [though he waited].

[Spent too long blinking dumbly at her].

“What do you want?” He managed eventually. The asari dipped her gaze before replying.

“Ah-Ashley wanted a word about tomorrow’s patrols,” Her body straightened as he approached, hand dropping to clasp the other [worry and resignation]. “Garrus fell whilst coming back; he can barely walk now.”

Ah.

A grunt crawled out of his throat; Javik was not surprised. Vakarian had been [quietly] fading since the data-drone. Intense rationing and a lingering injury [physical, emotional] had made him gaunt, whilst the stubborn fool insisted on helping with repairs and patrols [a good warrior] [a grieving one]. Javik also suspected he’d been forgoing meals in favour of feeding the quarian [imprudent] [admirable] [futile].

“It was only a matter of time,” he said quietly, watching as the asari’s shoulders dropped. Her anxiousness was sly and slick, and his fingers ached from some kind of forgotten instinct [he was a soldier] [she was so close].

“Yes. Well,” Liara’s lashes fluttered as she lowered her gaze, and her hands slip over her arms to hold herself. “And you?”

Javik stared dumbly at her, mouth dry. Words to dismiss her worry [suspicions] [fear] would not come. Not even a sneer for her empathy. Why should she care for his well-being? The war was over now.

The Echo Shard against his breast pulsed like an extra heartbeat [the fight was won] [why not return home] [return to rest with the fallen]. But Javik had told the Commander that he wished to witness peace, and to do that he had to leave the past behind [in a cold, shallow grave] [he wanted to live].

“You promised we’d survive this, remember?” The asari’s lips thinned as his silence lingered. Yellow eyes tracked the soft curve of her cheek [worry, for him, seeped off her like sand]. “That still stands. We have a book to write.”

The whirlpool of his thoughts stilled; the furrow in her brow had deepened. He’d hoped to give her focus, with that promise. Something to look for beyond that red horizon. If Liara knew she’d returned the favour, she made no show of it.

“I have not forgotten,” Javik’s voice rasped [unsure at the slow unwinding of the knot in his chest].

Liara nodded, a wan, fleeting smile traced her lips as she [finally] moved aside to let him through.

“Good,” she all but whispered, and moved on, leaving Javik to roll the word over [and over] in his mind.

.

.

**16. ******

There was little she could do but watch anxiously as Tali and Garrus were spirited out of the shuttle and away into the human airbase, Chakwas dogging their heels as she snapped at the ground-medics. Gladdened as Liara was to see both turians and quarians amongst their attendants, it was not enough to quell the anxious buzz that had been playing havoc with her nerves since they had entered Earth’s atmosphere.

If only Liara could follow, just to keep an eye on them. Garrus had been so gaunt and Tali so quiet; she couldn’t bear the thought of losing them now.

A hand slapped down on her shoulder, and Liara jumped as Ashley’s fatigued face came into view.

“They’ll be fine, Doctor,” assured the Spectre, dark hair framing her face like a crown. “They’re tough, have a little faith.”

Liara’s laugh was more of a sob as she clung to the shuttle’s safety handles. For almost a year they’d been trapped in some lonely corner of the universe, slowly dwindling in strength and hope. And now, by the Goddess’s grace and the frigate Sekigahara, here she was. A footstep away from Earth and so far away from certainty.

“I’m trying,” Liara replied, even as tears burned at the corners of her eyes. To step off the shuttle was to step foot back on a world that was so broken and unsure. Liara had always believed, had known, that Shepard would do right by them. The dark eyed human she held so dear was more stubborn than a krogan in heat.

Yet here, off the Normandy and this small shuttle, was the reality. A world where Shepard was lost, where civilisation was on the brink and where everything she’d ever known was marked by horror. Where Garrus and Tali were so close to death, and Joker as pale as cracked porcelain. A pulse at Liara’s temple thrummed painfully, and she shook her head to clear her fear, to no avail.

Her distress must have been great for Ashley to see it, for the soldier’s stern face softened. Ashley set her jaw before drawing Liara into a brusque, one-armed embrace. Pressed tight against a shoulder, Liara felt the rigidity in the Spectre’s frame, the quiet desperation in her composure. 

They were all worn by sorrow, Liara knew. Victory had seemed like such as dream.

Her body trembled, face pressed against Alliance lapels.

“But, I'll not fear, I will not weep,” Ashley’s voice was thick and laden in her ear. “For those whose bodies rest in sleep; I…I know there is a blessed shore…” 

Liara did not know the poem, but the sentiment sounded true.

Ignoring the wetness on her cheeks, Liara drew back at last. Ashley looked as composed as ever, but for the shimmer in her eyes.

“Remember, this is a victory,” Ash told her firmly, and Liara wondered that a human less than half her age had such sage advice. No matter that her relief was drowned by her sorrow. An Avatar of Victory, Javik had said, and she’d believed him.

With a watery smile, Liara nodded. Ashley stepped back, and tilted her head to a figure behind her.

“When you’re ready, Doctor.”

“My thanks.”

And the human Spectre strode out and away to see to her crew. Liara felt shaken without the solid comfort of her presence. Victorious they were, maybe, but she could not be joyful. Not just yet.

From behind her, Javik emerged, as distant to baser sentiment as was his way. The prothean did not brush past her, though. Liara tried to glare; he seemed to be waiting for something, and she did not wish to suppose it was her.

To step off the shuttle was to step back into a galaxy she barely recognised, that contained her worst fears and brightest hopes. 

“Do all asari weep so?” Javik asked, when still she did not move. “I preferred your anger.”

“Goddess take you,” Liara snapped. “You are such a pyjack.” 

Javik shifted behind her, and Liara seethed at his startled chuckle. Squaring her shoulders, she refused to give him another reason to deride her. Footsteps heavy, Liara strode out of the shuttle, and onto Earth.

.

.

**17.**

London was in little better shape than when he last saw it. Even the old building where the human [Hackett] received them still bore the marks of war. It did not feel like victory [he still felt at war].

Since the Normandy [aided by the Sekigahara] had returned, it had been a continual string of uncomfortable medical exams and disinfectant processes. Javik had almost torn the hand off the last doctor who’d tried to probe him [barbaric and invasive] [a ploy?]. He would not tolerate such indignity.

Three days later, and they [T’Soni, Williams, Vega] had been bundled onto a bus [like cattle] and escorted into London, while the rest of the crew remained in recovery. Half a day’s drive in a [rattling] death-trap, and Javik and his comrades found themselves marched into Alliance Headquarters like errant younglings, where a steely-eyed human [duty in every line] rose from his desk and saluted them.

“Admiral, there’s no need!” Williams had stuttered [shock, embarrassment, guilty satisfaction]. This, Javik realised, was the infamous Hackett the pilot [Joker] so liked to grumble about. He was more weathered than anticipated.

“At ease, Lt. Commander,” came Hackett’s [amused, but solemn] reply. “You deserve it. All of you, and those who aren’t here.” 

Tension gripped the breath of the room [resigned, worried, stiff]. It felt wrong [he was surprised to find], not to have Vakarian and the quarian alongside to hear this [inevitable] news. Their numbers had shrunk; first the Commander, then the AI. The pilot wallowed in his grief and the Garrus and Tali were secreted away amongst their own kind. His gut rolled at the thought; Javik was not pleased by this [missed them] [even the blundering [competent] crew of the Normandy].

His hands ached [at the loss], and Javik knew what the Admiral had to say. They all did.

The Mass Relays were down; what remained of the armada Shepard had summoned were stranded in Sol [unsurprising, problematic]. Quarian live-ships ran full-throttle to mass produce enough dextro-food for them and the half a billion turian soldiers who’d survived SWORD, while the Alliance desperately tried to come up with supplies and strategies to cope with all the wounded. The surviving krogan, irrepressible as ever, had been strong armed by Urdnot Wrex out of brawling and into clean up [there were so many bodies for burial].

Most were still shocked they were alive [is this what peace looked like?] [it still sounded like war].

Shepard had been declared MIA, presumed dead [distress bit his companions]. Apparently there was no shortage of mangled bodies in the husk of the Citadel [that shining spire lost again] [twisted to an abomination]. Javik was not satisfied to have his suspicions confirmed; he’d long thought [grimly] it unlikely that the Commander had survived [miraculous as she was]. But the hollow feeling that settled over his hearts and bones was familiar; he would wear this loss like an old friend [would honour her memory].

A wet snuffle sounded to his right. Unsurprising, that the asari would weep again [there’d been so many concealed tears on the Normandy]. Yet, when Javik turned, Liara’s eyes were only damp [professional mask hiding her turmoil]. The marine [Vega] had bit into the flesh of his palm to hold back another sob. 

[Lt. Commander] Williams wrapped a [rough] arm around Vega’s head to hold him to her shoulder [expression pinched].

“Garrus and Tali,” the asari [Liara] said [voice cracked]. “They shouldn’t hear this alone. We should be there.”

Javik agreed [when had he become so protective] [so grounded by his comrades?]. Hackett nodded solemnly. 

“Rest assured, Doctor, they are in the utmost care,” the old human held up a hand at Liara’s [oncoming] objection. “I know that this news is hard for all of us, but there is a lot to do. We need you here, where the people can see you alive and well.”

“Do you have so little control over your own forces?” Javik asked, tongue sharp. He felt cheated [from what, he did not know] [that the world still needed the Commander?]. Hackett barely even blinked.

“Everything is a mess,” the Admiral told him plainly. “We have innumerable dead, refugee camps overflowing and more people, human and otherwise, then we know how to handle. And a lot of damage. Everywhere. I need every bit of help I can get to maintain order while we try to figure out what to do with a victory we barely hoped for.”

It was a sound strategy [place your heroes in the limelight] [ignore the suffering you’ve all shared], for all that it stank of a lack of foresight. Still, if the Empire had succeeded in his cycle, would the protheans have been any more disciplined? [Had they ever considered victory?] Javik could not say. 

Hackett sighed again [tired]. The door behind them creaked open as a young [human] ensign poked his head through.

“Admiral,” the young human’s throat bobbed as he swallowed [just a child]. “The asari Councillor is here. I’m sorry, but she is very insistent-“

Gruff curses [malcontent] sounded from beyond the door. Something [bright] spiked in the asari’s [Liara] scent, enough to turn his head. 

“You tell that old ball-sack, if he’s holding back-“

The ensign visibly gulped [already he was wary].

“Let her through,” Hackett motioned wearily. The ensign looked as if he would melt in relief.

“Yes-“

“About damn time,” swore the Matriarch, pushing past the marines who’d [barely] held her back. Skin a dark cobalt, the asari’s flinty [familiar] gaze snagged on him and caught on the [shaking] figure to his side. “Liara!”

The way she strode towards them [severe with intent] almost had Javik flare his biotics [protectively].

“Aethyta!” Liara’s cry was not of alarm. 

Joy surged off the two of them [pushed Javik a step back]. It was bright and bounding, streaked with disbelief and shock that rippled over his sensory nodes like a tidal wave [made his mouth dry and skin tingle]. He was startled [stunned] to see the asari buried in a fierce embrace, her stuttering gasps matched by a proficient string of intergalactic profanities. 

The gruff Matriarch pulled back, dark eyes wet [with wonder] as she cradled Liara’s cheek in one large palm.

“Your arm,” the asari [Liara] gasped, and he too saw the bandaged stump where a limb should be. Liara shook her head, fingers pale where they gripped shoulders [disbelief and terror battling with joy]. “Father, the Citadel. I thought for sure…”

“Takes a bit more than an ancient abomination to take down this old bird,” the old asari smirked [bravado, but kind], thumb wiping away Liara’s tears.

[He wondered that he did not know of this relation] [he wondered that he thought he should know]. 

His human companions stood awkwardly in silence; all of them were out of place at this reunion. Javik was still buffeted by their emotion; he was not used to this [it unnerved him]. A ruse, he feared [an old, instinctual fear]; any moment could reveal the bloodied knife of a [indoctrinated] traitor.

But the asari smiled as she turned [in earnest]. Javik eyed them as the old asari hung a loose arm around her daughter’s shoulders [stump swinging jovially]. The human admiral seemed unconcerned, which indicated some degree of familiarity.

“I’d like to present my father, Matriarch Aethyta,” Liara announced in a happy daze.

“Councillor Aethyta, actually,” interrupted the old human. Vega rubbed his nose and straitened. Williams saluted [wide eyed], and Hackett appeared far too pleased with himself. “A delight, as always.”

“Kiss my blue behind, Admiral,” Councillor Aethyta sniped. “Why did I hear of this from the Broker, and not from you? I thought they were still in Lincolnshire.” 

“They just arrived, I promise you.” Hackett raised his hands in [mock] defeat, and seated himself.

“I’m sure,” the Matriarch replied coolly, shrugging her shoulders at Liara’s baffled look. “S’not many of Matriarchs left, hun, and I’m the only one stuck on this hell-hole willing to go toe-to-toe with this old bastard, the bloody Primarch and that sly old Urdnott.”

He didn’t miss the way the asari’s eyes lit up, or how Vega and Williams’ wariness had relaxed. 

“I’m clearly behind on events,” Liara mused [a welcome echo of the asari he knew]. “Playing nice, I hope?”

“Shush you,” Aethyta scolded, rubbing her daughters scalp before turning her steely gaze upward. “And you, stop looking at me like I’m about to draw a gun.”

Javik blinked at her directness [at being caught out]. Even now he had the urge to [incapacitate] interrogate the asari at the very least [had to protect his crew]. He did not know her.

Yet Liara was smiling, though sadness still stained her scent. Williams and Vega just seemed glad for some good news [a distraction from loss]. Javik bared his teeth [would not be cowled by an old asari]

But he was unsettled [unused to this glimpse of happiness] [a herald of peace].

.

.

**18.**

There was blood on his face, when she finally found him, and a krogan on the floor of a ring. The basement room was dark and reeked of sweat, drink and other unnameable things. More than one leer was thrown her way as Liara pushed through the crowd. 

The clientele of this questionable, almost certainly illegal establishment were mostly sorry looking humans the wrong side of the law and disgruntled, bored krogan. Though, a number of turian vagabonds eyed her up from where they’d secreted themselves in a far corner table. Probably Blue Sun, from their armour. The Alliance was struggling to reign in Aria’s pet army now that they no longer had a common enemy. Nothing like a war to bring people together, and its aftermath to tear them apart. Liara’s mouth tightened, and she studiously ignored the unsaid solicitation. 

Money changed hands as attendants dragged the bloody krogan out of the ring, but Liara only had eyes for the prothean, scowling as usual as Massani clapped his back.

His posture stilled the moment she was spotted, gold eyes narrow as Javik’s wide mouth turned further downward. Black bruises cluttered about his cheek and bright blood seeped from his nostrils. A cool rage boiled in her belly; three months with no word, and this was how he welcomed peace? She’d expected better.

Teeth clenched, Liara barged through the crowded room toward the pair like a juggernaut. Massani threw back his head and cackled at the sight of her, and the old rogue downed his drink messily as Javik rose from his chair. She would deal with him later.

“Asari, what are you doing here?” Javik stepped forward to meet her, tried to use his height to loom menacingly. A cheap tactic, that Liara was not cowed by, not with blood on his face and the stagger in his step. Unbelievable. 

Hands on her hips, she tipped her chin up unafraid.

“That is the same question I was about to ask you,” Liara replied curtly. 

A glass landed loudly on cheap bar table as Massani chuckled. His watery eyes ran over her, a sly mix of caution and lust. It annoyed, but did not perturb Liara; asari were used to such attention. 

“C’mon Blue, give the man a break,” the mercenary fingered his glass, not taking his eyes off her. Javik twitched at her side, and vaguely Liara wondered if it was what he read from Massani. “He’s just made me a tight little profit in that ring.”

“When I want the opinion of a washed up bounty hunter, I’ll ask for it,” snapped Liara. The old man spat in half-hearted disgust, as she jerked her attention back to the subject of her ire. “A fighting ring, Javik?”

“What of it?” His eyes were bright as he leaned forward. Liara’s knuckles were pale where they clenched her hips; she dearly wished to strike something.

“You turn down Alliance work, meaningful work,” a snarl crawled over her face and she flung out a hand at the unsavoury scenery. “And this is how you decide to ‘make something of yourself’?”

“My undertakings are not constrained by your disapproval,” Javik seethed, face pale under the ill-lit room. “Combat trials were a respectable form of recreation in my cycle.”

 _Of course,_ fumed Liara, _of course he’d default back to battle._

When Javik had left Alliance custody three months ago, Liara had not begrudged him the choice to face this new cycle on his own terms. No matter that she’d become used to his caustic wit, never mind her growing sense of desolation as one by one her friends and comrades were scattered by the needs of their respective peoples.

Three months rebuilding her information network, for the Council, the Alliance, her father, and Liara had hoped, despite evidence to the contrary, that Javik had found some kind of place outside war.

“Two bar fights in under a month purportedly started by a ‘four-eyed alien and some old bastard’ costing thousands in damage?” She scoffed loudly as fury made her bones shake; her network might be a shadow of its former glory, but is was by no means gone. “Never mind the petty merc jobs or the drunken rages, are you trying to throw your life away?”

“In our defence,” Massani interrupted. “Those arse-holes in Saskatoon really had it coming.”

“That is beside the point!” 

“And what is the point, sweetheart?” The human’s discoloured glance was pointed and his smile worn. “Smile at the brand new world? Not all of us blighters were meant for peace.”

Her heart squeezed at the mercenary’s words, and she struggled to swallow. Liara hated the sentiment, the resignation; it smacked of defeat. Everyone was a veteran of the war, she knew. Massani’s attitude was an excuse. As if struggling to find a place in the shambles of civilisation wasn’t universal, that echoes of its horror and anguish didn’t haunt her sleep and cloud her mind.

As if the Reapers hadn’t taken enough already; Liara refused to let them take the future too. 

“I don’t believe that,” her voice came out strained, almost a whisper. But her blood still burned and her hot gaze turned to Javik. “I don’t believe that’s true for you either.”

Anger turned his expression sour. Sharp teeth bared, the prothean reached for her with one hand before faltering. 

“Get out of here, asari,” Javik bit out at last, retracting his hand and his gaze. “I have no patience for your self-righteousness.”

She wanted to shake him, the stubborn fool, for letting fear shackle him so. Massani she expected; the old human had chosen to walk his violent path long ago, but Javik had made no choice. Never had the luxury, forged as he was from the desperate death throes of his cycle. For all their mastery of battle, they were not alike, even if the prothean could not see it. 

Liara clenched her fists, crest flushed as she threw her head up.

“Is fighting the only thing you think yourself capable of?” Liara challenged. “Or are you afraid to do more than simply survive?” 

Javik’s response was a disgusted grimace, but she did not miss the flinch that met her words. The prothean was not the unassailable, unfeeling fortress he thought himself to be. Massani watched her still, slouched as he was at the table and seeing far too much. 

Well, Liara was no coward. Would say her piece.

Behind them, another fight began in the ring; two humans this time, and the crowd around them roared. The jostling mass of people rolled as the combatants grappled, and her heart stuttered as Liara was thrust forward by some carelessness.

Her nose bumped Javik’s breastplate, even as he caught her fall. The crowd cheered again and Liara noted long fingers that gripped her arms, the faint push that always marked his presence. Her fingers twitched where they pressed against his chest, and she found she could not breathe.

Careless, to forget how volatile their surrounding were. But that was not what held her still against him, was not truly what had brought her here.

“Javik,” she said looking up, voice huskier then intended. He remained as frozen as her, lips parted in surprise. Sickly green shadows hung over his eyes and around his sense nodes, and all of the wounds could not hide how lost he looked to hold her so close.

Liara swallowed, throat tight and tongue heavy.

“I’ve been asked to work on the Charon Relay,” she told him. Talking seemed so hard, with his eyes so wide and close and his grip on her tightening so. “The next supply will leave within the week, and they need a-all the help they can get-“

Why did he stare so? She could not fathom her words faltering in her throat.

She tried to straighten, to push away, but her limbs felt like stone. The rage that had fuelled her simmered now, and was no longer strictly rage. Liara could not name it, could only name her worry and fear for him despite his attempt at callousness. 

By Athame’s shield, she had missed Javik and his contrariness these past months. How had she not realised?

A hiss sounded, and Javik drew in a shaky breath. Lips pressed together, Liara watched as his expression fell again into annoyance. Yet even his scowl could not hide the gentleness by which he eased away from her.

“So you are to leave this miserable planet?” Voice flat, Javik tilted his head to avoid meeting her eyes. It did not seem right, to be away from him, though his hands still gripped her shoulders. “The manner of your farewell is clumsy and unpleasant.”

“Oh!” Indignation flushed to her cheeks as Liara shrugged out of his hold. He was being deliberately facetious, she was certain. “I didn’t-I wasn’t going to-“

He stepped away, mouth twisting in familiar displeasure.

“You’d thought to chastise me one last time for not being the pillar of wisdom you’d hoped?” 

Liara almost screamed.

“You are so difficult!” Jabbing a finger at his chest, she was satisfied to see him lean away from her fury. “Why would you presume I would behave so poorly?”

“Experience,” he sneered. Liara felt her biotics flare.

“Javik, you berk,” snorted Massani, and both of them jumped. How had she forgotten he was there, watching like a voyeur? He looked far too entertained. “She’s asking you to go with her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me so long! I had finished it ages ago and then realised I didn't like how fast paced it was and added a bunch more scenes.
> 
> This chapter became really influenced with how each of them struggles with adjusting to a post-war society. Liara is still very much in mourning and is trying to live up to Shepard's example. Javik, on the other hand, has never been a civilian and had no idea how not to fight (something I think Zaeed identifies with). These two viewpoints kinda warp what they see in the other/how they view them. 
> 
> I'm not sure how well I managed to convey these things. It's not quite the direction I intended, but I am enjoying how it complicates their views of each other. Hope you guys like it too.
> 
>  
> 
> Glossary:  
> Kamada: Prothean word for the imperial court.  
> Marbar Ya: Prothean word for the carers of young.  
> Shihiid: Prothean word for Martyr


	4. Chapter 4

.

.

**19**

There was little for him to pack from the rundown prefab accommodation Massani [the human] had found them. Mostly ammo-clips and different scopes he’d taken to tinkering with to fit his Particle Rifle [oh for the elegance of prothean engineering] . Not that Javik had any real talent for tech, but any prothean worth their weight could work on their weapon.

The old mercenary was nowhere in sight, though a number of empty bottles [stale and tart on the air] lay dotted around the room. Javik glanced over the bleak room; it was a grim indication of his state of living [careless and indulgent]. Massani was a good partner and good at survival, but Javik did not need the asari to point out that he had been drowning [in loss] [aimless and afraid].

Killing Blood Pack thugs menacing a state [Bihar] in the New Indus Republic had been a worthy distraction, or so he’d told himself [a shallow role to play] [a purpose]. It was hard to wallow in [self-indulgent] pain midst the [unbearable] tropical heat that clung [clammy] to the senses as they trawled through untended, fertile plains [hot stink of krogan rage on the wind] [old copper traces of natives long dead] [dying desperate despair].

Javik’s [aching] hands trembled as they hovered over the crumpled, thin-paged book [such an antiquated means of communication] on his nightstand. He’d found it midst the ruin of a town [stained and worn]. The strange, dancing figure on the cover had caught his eye midst the filth of an abandoned store [a sign] [he’d glimpsed it once] [a shadow from Shepard’s mind on Mindoir].

It shouldn’t have hurt him so [homes laid waste as krogan rifled through corpses]; Javik had seen worse atrocities [had stopped flinching long ago]. Should have not made the cavern of his chest gape open and empty [pain whistling through his ribs]. Javik had not meant to succumb to excess, but the drink had numbed him and the fighting pits wounded him in a manner he could survive. 

The [dead] Marbar Ya would have wept to see him so dishonoured. His [dead] Saaxiib would had spat on his shame. How had he sunk to the levels of the primitives? What place did he had sneering at this cycle’s foibles [his people were all dead] [his own overwhelmed him]?

There was no way to deny how his limbs shook as Javik sunk heavily onto his [thin, squeaking] bed. A deep gnawing [like crushed glass] seeped into his thoughts and down his spine [the asari was wrong] [how could he be more?]. Fingers brushed the book’s cover, colour faded to a dull pink. 

He’d learnt enough from the unkempt locals [weary with fear] [picking through the shells of their former lives] to stumble over the words. Merely thumbing the pages brought a sifting residue to his senses [gentle fingers, smoothing out dog-eared corners] [a press of pride and affection from older kin] [wafting turmeric form an open door]. The Mahabharata was a relic; outdated and fragile. Another thing on this primitive, potent world he did not understand [in his cycle, he’d have lost a hand for the act of looting]. What little he’d read gave him no peace [only questions] [duty and virtue muddied together like a broken puddle].

Heavy footstep fell behind him [turian, or a big human male] [limp], and Javik twitched until he recognised the smooth, metallic tang of Garrus Vakarian.

“You’re really going then?”

Javik did not look up at where Vakarian [blue armour, guns holstered] [new white insignia on shoulders and cowl plate] leant against the door. A disgruntled note hummed under Javik’s throat as he tucked the [battered] book within his duffel bag. Had the turian been sent to watch him like a [errant] youngling? The thought irked him.

“Was the asari worried that I would not show?”

Vakarian betrayed little of his thoughts [through gesture or emotion] [smooth as a river stone from waves of grief] at that. Merely cocked his head [eyes clear and sky-blue] and [slightly] flared his mandibles. 

“No,” Vakarian answered, amusement flanging his voice [brittle skinned]. “She’s busy fretting over leaving her…business affairs so soon.”

Unsurprising; [when not needlessly fretting about people] the asari had been preoccupied [anxious] over her network before the rescue. Something that had not abated since their return to [the shambles of] civilisation. He wondered if she [the asari] [mind steeped in turmoil] had it in her to offer him what he needed [meaningful work] [a purpose] [a future]. 

Javik flexed his pale fingers [steady now, tasting the traces of Maasani had left on the air [simple pleasure] [loose buzz of beer]. Narrow eyes peered at the waiting turian.

“So this is, what they say here, a social call?”

Vakarian scoffed.

“I just came to give an old crew-mate a lift.”

Bracing his knees [joints popping and stiff], Javik eased himself off the bed and recommenced packing. Vakarian watched without a word, and indeed [thankfully] said nothing more until they were seated in a repurposed Alliance sky-car and zipping through a half-built sky-way.

[He did not need to inquire into the turian’s well-being] [it could be read in every brittle line] [heart-ache at home under his skin]. Vakarian was held together by duty alone.

Vakarian tapped a talon on the steering wheel. 

“You know, Zaeed told me something funny when I came to find you,” he began.

[Ah]. Javik wondered what stories the grizzled human had been telling now. It has got them into trouble more than once during their partnership [a lot of trouble in Saskatoon] [a lot of blood, too]. The prothean grunted and studied the passing city-scape; fleeting sky-cars, red and white cranes bent over a building’s skeleton with all the temporality of a fading dream.

“He told me you were in love with Liara.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Javik snapped [tight with shock, alarm] [hearts racing]. “Cross species liaisons are a pointless exercise.”

“Yeah I remember,” Vakarian paused, mandibles held close to his jaw [damn the turian’s composure] [would that he were jesting]. “Still disagree. But it’s not so pointless with asari, is it?”

Javik snorted [choked]. If Vakarian weren’t so sincere, he’d mark it off as curiosity for idle gossip. But no, the turian’s eyes had not left the sky-road and his demure tone was deceptive [with intent].

“The offspring would be asari regardless of parentage,” Javik managed through gritted teeth. Never mind that such a thing had been considered an aberration in his cycle; the asari were [had been] primitives. “My involvement would be redundant.”

No offspring born from an asari would be remotely prothean [there was no legacy to be had there]. The very suggestion was an affront to the Empire; dalliances outside of race could produce no young [meaningless and absurd] and thus was a crime of the highest order [she was far too contrary]. Besides [however limber] the asari were too undeveloped as a whole to be anything more than a passing fancy [an oddity] [an experiment] [a contingency plan]. 

Had been [this cycle is not yours]. Javik would be the last of his people. No asari would change that [he was alone].

“Thought about it, have you?”

[No] [the very thought] [even if-no]. The turian sounded obnoxiously pleased [a veil of amusement hung over his smugness]. Biotics hummed over his knuckles, and Javik contemplated the complete obliteration of Vakarian and any further whisperings of his ridiculous claim.

Upper lip curled, the prothean tucked his hands under his arms and glared at the city horizon.

“In my cycle, the asari were a curiosity, a diversion at best,” he answered, voice dripping with derision. Never mind he’d only known of them through the Echo Shard [long-reaching] [ghosts of past opulence and folly] [gold hanging off weak, bare shoulders]. “In greater times, they were often favoured by the rich and powerful.” 

“Bet Liara loved hearing about that,” Vakarian said dryly. Javik refrained from mentioning the many times he’d taunted the asari with her ancestors’ pre-developed state [ignored Vakarian’s snideness].

Still, there was a purpose to this conversation, and it was not hard to decipher. The Commander had left herself in each one of her companions [an echo], and the Normandy’s crew looked out for one another.

“Are you here to warn me off?” Javik asked, eyes sly on the turian. “Do you fear my undue influence on the asari?” 

Vakarian’s grip on the wheel shifted, and his chin jutted out ever so slightly [so still closed]. Javik clacked his teeth in disdain. 

“Ridiculous,” he continued. “Massani is mistaken. I hold no particular feeling toward her.”

A soft snort escaped from Vakarian.

“No?” The turian even spared him a side glance. “Three months of silence, and one word from Liara is enough to send you packing across to the cold end of the star system.”

Javik hissed, but did not respond. How could he, when the asari had stormed up and demand he do better [think not on the purple streak of disappointment, the pulse of her worry] [he was a soldier]. She challenged his self-pity [demanded more]. Javik had not… 

“I don’t think you’re in love with Liara,” Vakarian said suddenly, startling Javik from his reverie. “Some affection, maybe, but she’s a distraction for you.”

[Yes] [She was very distracting] [annoying] [foolish] [brave].

Vakarian did not look his way, but his words deepened with a flange that signaled he’d read Javik’s silence too well. 

“I get it. Scary new universe without the Reapers to fight. Just don’t forget that Liara’s not a prop for your existential crisis.”

Spiked affront soared from his chest [how dare he].

“So long as she remembers I am more than a vessel for her curiosity.”

Vakarian hissed through his teeth [anger, defence] but did not respond; he [the turian] was just as much aware how unfair that statement was as Javik.

.

.

**20**

Dr Cole led them to a lab that was crowded, cramped and clearly comprised of equipment from several separate facilities. Much the same could be said about the rest of the small research station that clung on to the wreckage of the Charon Relay. STG and Alliance scientists muttered and argued as the poured over reams and reams of data. Barely a glance was spared their way as the good doctor showed Liara and Javik around. 

Her crest itched as a couple of humans passed, bending out the way to avoid collision. Liara resisted the urge to rub her scalp; had the Crucible been so crowded?

“Not much to look at, I know,” Doctor Cole explained, one hand ruffling his pale blond hair. “We were going on functionality. At least we have a nice view.”

He waved to the wide windows that provided a prime view of the Relay’s long arms. Debris hovered everywhere as salvage EIR Mechs scuttled over the surface.

Liara hummed to herself as she surveyed the damage. It looked like an impossible puzzle. 

“This looks atrocious.” Javik’s disapproval was, as ever, obvious. It was the first thing he’d said since their arrival, surly as he had been on the journey. Liara flicked a glance toward their guide, but the doctor was engrossed conferring with a salarian colleague to hear Javik’s disdain.

“That’s why we’re here,” Liara reminded him tersely. Someone somewhere was yelling about power converters. “Maybe you missed the part where a giant shockwave shattered all Reaper based technology?”

Javik narrowed his eyes as he gestured shortly to the mix-matched laboratory around them. 

“I was talking about the facilities,” he replied bluntly. “Primitive. Clumsy, and overpopulated.”

Liara bristled at his discontent even as it mirrored her own concerns. Her own research had always been solitary endeavours with loose, long distant supervision; Liara had rarely worked as a part of a team, and even the Normandy had allowed her the privacy she was accustomed to.

Still, such contrariness from Javik was not unusual, and was surely no herald for her concerns. Javik, she’d realised, often grumbled for the sake of it. Long experience had taught her to differentiate between the flanging tone that indicated true ire, and petty grumbling.

“We can only do our best with what we’re given,” replied Liara, injecting the right level of levity and optimism into her tone that would irritate Javik best. Never mind she kept expecting him to bail. Not that he could go far. Sending an arch glance his way, she continued. “You didn’t have to say yes.”

“It seemed the best use of my talents,” muttered Javik, deliberately avoiding her eye. Liara pursed her lips; a low blow on her behalf maybe, but he insisted on being surly.

The empty corpse of the Citadel hung eerily over Earth, the newly formed post-war council threw whatever resources they could into rebuilding the relays. All knew that post-war goodwill could only last so long. The brightest minds of the universe had united to construct a secret deus ex machina designed by the defiant dead of previous cycles. How much harder could the Relays be?

 _We have a job to do,_ she reminded herself sternly. The galaxy could not truly move on whilst still trapped on Sol. It could only fester. 

Dr Cole returned, ushering them to a small, separate lab further back. The set-up looked salarian in design; they tended towards more multiple, curved screens than human labs. Liara hummed in satisfaction as she looked over the processors. At the very least they were not in the very centre of the stations hub. Javik strode to the window and kept his back turned.

The doctor cleared his throat.

“Uh, we were told to give you enough processing power and high priority for communications,” he explain, stressing the end of his sentence. Liara wondered what his superiors told him, and what they knew or suspected about her shadowy alter-ego. “Our best is about a two week delay to and from Earth, though that should improve by the end of the month.” 

“That is excellent to hear, Doctor,” Liara smiled sweetly at him, running a finger over a monitor. “I appreciate the trouble you’ve gone to.”

Cole reddened and rubbed his neck, but she’d already turned back to the consol. Feron had turned lean and sharp during the Normandy’s absence, and while Liara did not distrust him, she worried about his burdens. It was no easy thing to rebuild the most feared information network in such times. 

Blue knuckles paled; she disliked being stuck out of the loop. No matter that she’d agreed to join this project; how delayed would her Broker feeds become? At least on Earth she’d had control. Somewhere behind them, Javik scoffed.

“We have some files salvaged from the Crucible, but not all of them,” Cole continued, opening up familiar blueprints for the Crucible, as well as incomplete ones for the Relay. “The Relay’s appear to be completely different in design. It’s giving us no end of trouble for data reduction.”

Shaking off her doubts, Liara nodded as she browsed the plans. In her younger years, her research had been more focused on prothean culture and history than their technology. Still, she’d always kept up to date with the work of her peers, and her work during the war had vastly increased her knowledge in the area.

“Yes,” Liara murmured as she flicked through the designs. “One of my old professors wrote extensively on the uniqueness of the Mass Relay design.” 

“Was it on how little they comprehended prothean technology?” Javik’s disgruntled tone came from directly behind her; both Liara and Dr Cole jumped in surprise. Javik ignored the narrow eyed glare she sent him and gestured at the garbled symbols on screen. “Just what are these meant to be?”

To his credit, the human regained his composure swiftly.

“That is the result of your translation ciphers on the data from the Relay. Occasionally something comes across as legible. Most of the time it’s just a mess.”

Liara stood back from the screen and crossed her arms. It wasn’t entirely unsurprising; the Prothean Empire had been vast, and despite their perchance for uniformity, incessantly secretive. 

“Another dialect, perhaps?” she wondered out loud. Javik’s low grumble was unsurprisingly unhelpful. “Or perhaps it’s coded.” 

“Bah.” Liara rolled her eyes at the prothean’s predictability. Dr Cole chuckled.

“Well, hopefully that’s where you two come in,” he grinned, the first cheerful expression she’d seen him wear. “Welcome to Operation Osiris, and to the impossible task ahead!”

Javik’s groan was drawn out and audible. 

.

.

**21**

“Your physiology does not appear to be suited to laying eggs. Of course, I could be wrong. Insufficient data.”

The scrawny salarian [Lurkin Vel] was brash and surprisingly crude [in his interests] [salt] for one of his kind. His human associates were little better in their obnoxious curiosity, Liara could be perceived as subtle in comparison [he would not tell her that]. 

Javik never ate where they could see him [old habits died hard], but he’d taken to joining the others [primitives] [researchers] in the mess hall. The asari claimed he needed to develop his communication skills; apparently informing this cycle’s [undeveloped and barbaric] species of the [obvious] superiority of the Prothean Empire did not inspire goodwill.

The Commander had told him as much too, so long ago. Though she’d had the sense to leave well alone [Liara demanded so much more from him].

So, mug of boiled water in hand with the asari [tactically disinterested] to his side and a gaggle of scientists and researchers that hounded him with inane questions. He enjoyed their questions, if only for the chance to frustrate Liara with his answers [bald faced lies].

The past nine months had been long and tedious [he was no scientist] [of limited use]. Javik vented his frustrations in the sparring ring and took his relief where he could.

“Of course not,” Javik replied smoothly [he’d told them that fallacy months ago] [their bafflement welcome]. “Protheans gave birth to live young. Twin embryos often developed, and the stronger would eat the runt within the womb.”

Vel did not flinch, only tapped his splotched yellow chin, while Hoffson squirmed [green disgust pouring off the human] [eyes darting between himself and the asari]. Javik’s periphery vision caught the downturn of Liara’s mouth, the crease in her brow [she had become too good at deciphering his lies of late], before her attention returned to her reports and meal.

How he wished he could hold the asari’s attention better [her frustration tasted second to none] [but she held herself so close these days].

“How frequently did this occur?”Vel asked, eyes wide and fathomless and oh so sly [the salarian was learning].

“Ew,” objected one of the human particle-physicists [Mau]. The dumpy human glared at the salarian, eating utensil stabbed into her meatloaf. “No more details, please, I’m trying to eat.”

“Can offer relaxants if your stomach feels unstable,” Vel shot back good-naturedly, and the two devolved into [aimless] bickering [a familiar experience] [a welcome one].

It was easy for Javik to hide his mirth [his interest in their dynamic]. They could not perceive it with their dull senses. Liara could [her disapproval tasted tart], he did not know why she was so tense.

“Physiology, huh?” Hoffson asked loudly over Vel and Mau. “I bet your asari knows all about that.”

[That-] [what?]

“Excuse me?” T’Soni cut in, thin-lipped and eyes that glittered dangerously [it was more of a reaction then he’d managed to incite from her for weeks]. Javik’s pulse quickened.

“Please,” the human male’s scoff was edged and lurid [he was bold] [Vel and Mau had frozen]. “Everyone knows asari jump the bones of anything unusual.”

Liara’s knuckles went egg-shell blue where she gripped her utensils [interesting].

“Ah. Unsurprising,” Javik drawled [the corners of his mouth curled her way] [this tasted new] [her look wary]. “Is your interest in me purely carnal then, asari? And here I was thinking you wanted me here for my great wisdom.”

A sharp pulse of hurt flared from Liara [her betrayed glance, a lance to his chest] [swift and sure].

“Gotta wonder that they find their own genes so abhorrent they’ll bed anything else,” agreed Hoffson [knife-like and sour]. [Wait].

“You’re a vile little toad, Hoffson,” rebuked the human female [Mau] [her ire was sent his way too]. [What].

Javik blinked at the tableau [asari cold and righteous] [Vel voyeuristically delighted] [Mau protective and annoyed] [Hoffson satisfied and…cruel?]. Something had shifted with the clatter of cutlery on the table, too fast, their pheromones too tangled for him to read. Protheans were not like this [not so disorganised and volatile] [there was protocol]. The Normandy had not been so hard to navigate.

And Liara [violet anger spiking through her calm], shoulders stiff, rose like a storm about to break.

“So it seems males of all cycles flatter themselves with delusions of desirability by projecting their attentions onto the unwilling,” her voice was raw like glass [disdain dripped over hurt]. When Liara narrowed her glare his way, he was struck by the venom of her words. “So good to see you’ve come down to our level, Javik. Rest assured, there is no one on this station I find less appealing.”

Her words stabbed into his skin with sharp barbs dipped in poison [only once had she felt so wounded before him] [angry]. With growing dismay [a bitter pill], Javik realised that he had miscalculated the exchange.

_Arrows of different sorts can be extracted from the body, but a word-dart cannot be drawn out, for it is seated in the heart._

A fine time to remember human wisdom from his pilfered book.

She was gone before he could articulate his epiphany [too quick to halt]. The unease left in her wake was haunting, like a sniper in the shadow waiting to cut him down.

“If either of you turn up dead tomorrow, I won’t shed a tear,” muttered Mau.

“Unlikely, but not impossible,” mused Vel. 

Javik did not respond, too lost in the swift turn of Liara’s fury [hurt] [he had hurt her] [where was her strength?]. It is an unwelcome shock, to feel [in that moment] more lost and alone then 50,000 and an empty blue dawn ever did.

.

.

**22.**

Hot sparks of biotic power flared over her skin as Liara slammed the at the door panel and fled through.

 _What have I done?_ A whirlwind of turmoil spun around her head, chasing after each thought like hawks in a storm. Air came short and fast into her lungs and it wasn’t enough. _How dare he?_

Her throat burned with unsaid screaming, and she had enough vitriol left to hiss at Javik’s startled glare before darting around the lab station to curl up behind her desk.

 _Breath,_ Liara tried to tell herself, knees up to her chin and arms cradling her crest.

“Calm your emotions, asari,” Javik’s jeer seemed so distant, she hardly heard him. “I can barely think for them.”

Oh but Liara was angry, body trembling with rage even as shame pulled at her skin like vengeful fingers.

The swish of an open door sounded, and Liara flinched. Of course someone had come after her. Liara bit down on her bottom lip and tried not to scream.

“Ah. Javik,” the anxious tone of Doctor Cole carried over to her. “Sorry to disturb you. Did Doctor T’Soni come this way?”

Liara rocked on her heels; why couldn’t he leave her be? Just until the desire to warp and tear everything apart with her biotics had been shackled. She wasn’t safe like this.

There was a stiff moment of silence before Javik replied in the negative. Cole’s sigh sounded strained. Liara dug her fingers into the tender flesh of her crest.

“What has happened?” Javik all but demanded.

 _No,_ she wanted to shout, wanted to throw Singularities at the both of them. Blue light spluttered at her knuckles.

“There was an incident in the mess hall,” the human doctor tone was tight. “T’Soni threw Hoffson across it. Mau seemed to think he’d behaved…inappropriately.”

“Tsk.” There it was, the prothean’s judgment would fall heavy upon her shoulders. She didn’t care. “Sometimes I marvel that this cycle managed to achieve what mine failed.”

“Today, I share the sentiment,” muttered Cole. “Let me know if you see her.”

His footsteps twisted and disappeared out the room.

Curse him, Liara thought viciously. Her teeth ached from her clenched jaw. Goddess strike down this entire station. Especially Hoffson, that spiteful little troll.

Bad enough his snide insinuation about her interest in protheans (or one), but that he’d the gall-but no. Liara drew herself in closer as guilt slid over her tongue and into her belly. 

What did that compare to the burning rage that had roared to life in her heart? It had only been last minute horror that had held back the lethality of her biotic attack. She was no murderer, wasn’t she? Oh, if only Shepard were here to help her. Liara could face the dark heart of the universe with Shepard by her side.

Something brushed against her biotics, and Liara snarled as she unfurled, thrust out a palm brimming with blue-

Only to freeze to find four yellow eyes staring impassively at her display of unbridled emotion. 

“What?” Liara snarled, even as her clumsy tongue stumbled. Javik bared his teeth in challenge. 

“The human doctor was afraid of you.” His words were ever as blunt as a hammer. “You attacked the male?”

Liara winced and buried her face in her knees. She hadn’t meant for that, hadn’t meant for any of it. Chest tight, she sucked air in through her teeth; Hoffson did not deserve her tears.

Thessia, though. 

“This is not your concern,” Liara bit out; bad enough that she’d lost control, but that Javik were here to witness her undoing. She should have known, a sly voice whispered to her, should have known he held no regard for her. Hadn’t proved that time and time again?

“Doctor,” Javik tried again. “Liara.”

“Do you wish to mock?” The gall to speak so placidly to her. Liara’s fingers trembled and a sob choked her throat. “Find your amusement elsewhere.”

Surely he only sought more bait by which to belittle her? It mattered not; Liara’s rage would not fade. Even now biotics fizzled over her skin, and she feared it would never calm. In a way, she did not wish to. Grim faced and heavy eyed, Liara looked back up at her companion.

“He called my people craven and said that Thessia deserved the razing,” Liara seethed, and her voice shook as fire rose again in her belly. “All I could think of was Lieutenant Kurin; ready to retreat from that hell-mouth, and we came along and promised a miracle.”

It had been so easy, a few words of hope, let slip a secret and Kurin had hardened her gaze and sent her troops to a hopeless cause and to death.

And Hoffson had the audacity to call them cowards.

“Those gunship pilots did not flinch in our defence, even as the Reapers cut them down, because they believed we had a chance,” Her fists tightened as her voice lowered to a dangerous growl. “They were betrayed. By the Matriarchs who hid the truth of Athame. By me and my lies. And for that, I almost killed a man today.”

She dragged a ragged breath into her hurting lungs.

“A stupid, petty man with petty resentments and I wanted to flay his mind and wipe the walls with him.”

Javik barely blinked, and made no movement in the tense silence that followed. Liara wished he would speak, sneer, something she could fight against. His weighted patience was foreign and unsettling, especially in light of their recent disharmony. 

The shadow of her words brought back her guilt, for she had not exaggerated. For a moment, Liara had wanted kill the human. And that in itself made her so far from who she’d thought herself to be, who Shepard had believed her to be. A stranger in her own skin.

And by the Goddess, Liara feared losing that more than anything she’d even known.

“It is not easy,” Javik began at last. “To disappoint those who would place their faith in you.”

“You!” Liara spluttered; disgusted at his hypocrisy and ready to strike him.

And yet.

Javik pressed his fingers against her wet cheeks, and there was a hum and a promise of strength.

It was-

It was.

Liara grimaced and pulled away, resting her weight on desk behind her. She desired Javik’s pity even less then his condescension. Surely it was not comfort?

Hoffson’s cruelty was born from buried lust and long resentment for the shattering of society. Doctor Cole’s fear came from all they had yet to accomplish. For herself, the gaping wound in Liara’s heart was no stranger, for all she was losing control of it.

The asari had fashioned themselves a mantle, only for it to choke them with false promises and lies. What the Temple of Athame had hidden, the beacon the Matriarchs and her mother had guarded so jealously, had been a promise, a test Thessia hadn’t known it was taking until they had failed.

For all his spite, Hoffson had aired a truth Liara had long hidden; the asari had failed this cycle. Only Shepard had saved it. His anger at her people mirrored her own, and that galled her. And Javik, studying her with sun-bright clarity and a face like stone, would not let her turn away.

She had wronged him, to hold his people so high on a pedestal and blaming him for stumbling through its ruin. A hiss escaped her teeth as she leant her head against the desk behind her. The air in her chest never seemed to end.

“Speaking from experience?” Her words were barely above a whisper, and Liara blinked languidly at her prothean companion. They had time now, after all.

Javik grunted and eased himself away. How much of her turmoil had he read, she wondered? Too much for her liking. 

“To be a paragon, one must not let their convictions waver,” Javik said, in his most unfathomable manner. “You and I, Liara, doubt too much.” 

“Protheans suffer doubts?” Her tone was snide, but soft. She did not shiver at how he said her name.

He did not meet her acrimony in kind, but turned his burning eyes to the expanse of space that loomed over their small lab.

“I have doubted everything since I woke on Eden Prime.”

Liara could not fashion a reply that pleased her, and so she said nothing.

.

.

**23**

Liara was fidgeting when he finally made it back to their lab [full of silence and taught words]. 

Eighteen months stuck on this [ugly, clumsy, stifling] station, and Javik had not seen her fidget since he’d first arrived on the Normandy.

Rolling his shoulders, Javik paused [nervous energy snapped in the air]. Admittedly things had not been easy between them; he could not navigate the grey cloud that lingered over the asari [over all things bar her work]. Every expedition made into the bowels of the Charon Relay had Javik at the forefront; it was one of the few areas he felt truly useful [could escape the eerie placidity of Liara’s emotions] [he’d hoped…but no]. 

Javik’s technical and theoretical contributions to the machinations of the Relay was [embarrassingly] minimal, but he made up for it [barely] in identifying prothean specific design aspects and his ability to read the faint traces of his long dead kind. Always he wondered at Liara’s intent in strongarming him to join her [pity perhaps] [loneliness]. 

Still, despite the successful repair of the Relay’s arms flux capacitors, Javik had not expected the asari to be overly jubilant. It was but a minor feat [the road ahead was long] [and tedious]. What surprised him was her [obvious] agitation [popping out from under her eyes and teeth hooked on her lower lip].

“What is it?” Javik asked, watching as her eyes darted from one screen to another [barely blinking]. Her blue fingers drummed on the consol.

Liara shut down her screen sharply [surprise, alarm], then looked down at her clenched fists before waving him over.

“It’s…I got it just after you left,” Liara stammered; her uncertainty was loud and shifting. Opening up the screen again, the asari leant back so that he could fully view the blurry footage [her movements erratic and anxious].

It was of very poor quality and there was a lot of rubble. Yet the [bright] red of the N7 insignia stood out from the charred chest-plate [like a beacon]. Javik gripped the console so hard his knuckles snapped [shock stuttered his hearts, narrowed his glare].

The camera wavered midst the stillness, until the cracked chest rose in a distinct breath. A voice behind the camera swore softly, and mumbled, and the footage went dark. 

Neither of them moved; Javik forced himself to relax the tension in his jaw [the asari breathed short and sharply].

“It could be her,” whispered Liara, almost afraid of her hope [her emotions rolled and tilted off her shoulder line].

“It could be anyone,” he snapped [shaken, afraid] [Shepard was dead] [let her rest]. The asari drew her brows together, [a familiar, welcome] defiance already hardening her gaze.

“But then why send it to the Broker?”

Javik clacked his teeth [angrily], and hid his shaking hands behind his back. The Commander had won a victory his people had only dreamed of [wept for], and now she lay buried somewhere in the mass grave the [empty] Citadel had become. 

He had regretted that; if anyone deserved to see the aftermath of the Reaper War, it was Shepard. Yet the great Cosmic Imperative rarely adhered to such a [hollow] concept as justice. The Commander was dead, and at least, Javik reasoned, she was at peace [let her rest] [like all old ghosts should].

To believe anything else was folly [he thought Liara better than that] [stronger].

“To make you think the Commander lives,” he replied, words tight and scathing. “To draw you out.”

Liara scoffed and shook her head [stupid asari, stupid him].

“No one knows the Shadow Broker’s connected to Shepard.”

Javik almost laughed at her [almost shouted] [why did his hearts thrash so against his ribs?].

“They know you were,” he seethed, failing to keep his voice even. “And that they made significant contributions to the war effort.”

The asari pressed her lips together, and looked back at the [damned] footage.

“By the Goddess, that doesn’t mean it’s not her,” Liara said at last, grim and grave. She already believed, he realised with [stark] dismay [her cursed faith]. Already her mind was bent to theories [suppositions] and strategy, with a focus not seen since Thessia [so much brighter than the dull disinterested thing she’d lately been].

He had heard snippets [the Normandy’s crew, Liara, Shepard] of what path the asari had taken after the Collector ship had destroyed the first Normandy. Yet her [ruthless] rise from isolated archaeologist to renowned information broker in a mere two years had always slipped away from his perception of her [sentiment on his behalf?] [or masked by hers?]. Now, though, Javik could see the focus that had toppled the former Shadow Broker, taste the steely resolve that sunk over her skin like armour.

[He did not like it] [She was becoming a stranger to him] [and how did that horrify him]. 

Something bitter rose in his throat [stung his nodes] [he had failed her]; Javik spun and stomped away to glare out the window [the relay, still and lifeless, was little comfort]. Her hope still hurt [precious and frail]; he could not fathom why, and her focus frightened him [like a cold thing]. Already the asari was typing away, compiling analysis on whatever patterns her files hid.

“Look at the time stamp, it’s practically the day after the Crucible fired. Whoever sent this has had it for a while,” Liara murmured [not to him]. Javik scowled at her attempt at reason. “I’ve gone through all my files for activity around that time. There are Alliance and Hierarchy salvage and rescue ships, as well as numerous masked ones. Presumably they were off the grid scavengers, but what if one of them…”

She would get herself killed, he thought viciously [anxiously], or worse. This was a [clever, cruel] ploy, a lure by her enemies. He’d known the asari had a deep loyalty [love] for the Commander, had been instrumental in the first [unnatural and unkind] resurrection.

Somehow Javik had forgotten that, midst the constant barbs and one-upmanship of their partnership on Project Osiris [since she’d dragged him from the mindless drink and violence he’d fallen into on Earth]. Their rivalry had been the only thing that made the cramped conditions on this station bearable [kept him sane] [gave him purpose], until he had ruined even that with carelessness.

His fists tightened [and now, to life, she rose]. 

“I need to get back to Earth, to Feron,” she declared.

[No].

“What?” Javik whirled around to face her [Liara], mouth agape as she typed away.

“He’s as ruthless and cunning as the old Broker, but when it comes to spotting patterns in data I am vastly superior.” The asari had not even looked up [not even glanced his way]. “With the resources there, I could find her.”

“And fall into the trap your enemies have crafted for you!” Javik snarled [his stomach lurched at the thought] [his hands shook]. Oh, how he searched for a means to dissuade her. 

“And if you are right and that is the Commander, what will finding her achieve? Will you lead your enemies to where she lies, vulnerable?”

“I’m smarter than to be caught out in such a manner,” she answered in an off-handedly [still the footage played in the reflection of her eyes] [what was it about Shepard that inspired such devotion?]. 

“Bah!” Javik spat, slamming a fist against the reinforced window glass. She jumped at that, eyes finally torn away from the screen. “Will you abandon the work here, and all those who depend on it, to chase after an illusion?”

Liara’s uncertainty rolled out then like thunder, and Javik wondered how she’d hidden it before. He couldn’t breathe but for the indecision [fear, hope, anger] on her face.

“Don’t you lecture me,” the asari hissed through her teeth. “Feron will need my help. Shepard needs my help!”

“And the Relays?”

She had the grace to look away [with shame purpling her scent] [and anger]. He could bear her rage if it meant she stayed safe [with him, without] [he did not want to lose her to the thing she was becoming].

“What of the millions stranded in Sol, waiting to journey home in victory?” Javik pressed [to make her see the folly, selfishness]. “And you, running after a wish! Do you hold the living in such contempt, that the dead take such priority?”

“I won’t abandon her again!” cried the asari, voice breaking as she rose from her seat. Javik stared, watching the tight line of her mouth and the drowned look in her eyes.

A cold chill slunk down his spine [she would abandon him] [he would be alone]. This, Javik realised, was an old wound reopened [like the bullets buried in his comrades, their blood slick on the ship floor]. Hurt [loss], wrapped tight and buried away under the task at hand, only to unravel in her hands at the slightest sign [against all reason] that the Cosmic Imperative was kind. 

[How had he missed it?]. Easy, Javik had not looked further then Liara’s fastidiousness and her [seemingly] haughty demeanour [had not seen her slowly drowning]. 

“You are a selfish creature, asari,” Javik told her woodenly [cracked with disdain, disappointment, betrayal]. The flash of hurt [and truth] in Liara’s deep blue eyes was not missed [regretted]. “Do you think the universe crafted a miracle just for you?” 

“For Shepard,” she replied, so quiet and grave. “For Shepard, it just might have.”

Silence stretched between them, broken by the clumsy hum of the station.

“Bah,” Javik replied, shoulders straight and gaze distant. He would do this for her, for the Commander. Never mind why [because he would not be abandoned by her] [because he cared] [because it was the best use of his talents] [and hers]. 

He had failed her [he was a soldier] [Javik could not function in a world without war].

“I will go in your stead.”

.

.

**24.**

Liara,

Worry not, your polite, good-natured friend made contact with me. I must admit, I gave him a bit of a run around before meeting, mostly because he’s so distinct anyone with half an eye could’ve been tailing him, but also because he was so delightful I thought he deserved a localised tour Shanghai’s largest and messiest refugee camp. 

The data he passed on was very useful, though. I’ve sent feelers out as advised, and your friend said he’d keep in touch. No word yet.

I have to do agree with your friend, its best you stay out of this one. Far too risky. Things are messy ground side, and you are a rather public figure now. The media can’t get enough of N’s crew.

If it got out…well, a lot of wind and fire would head the way of the high and mighty (no disrespect to your father). Our network is nowhere near as complete as I would like, it would be easy for someone to feed us false information. Striking the grass alerts the snake, as they say here.

Keep at your work. I heard that some serious test runs were planned soon? I know you must be frustrated to tears, but so many are living on a desperate hope that they’ll be able to go home soon. Two years is far too long to be stuck in one system. I know you’ll figure it out.

Feron

\--

Feron,

My thanks, your words were a welcome balm to a restless heart. A part of me still wants to jump on the next shuttle to Earth, though I’ve been made aware of how particularly foolish a move that would be. Being on this station is like being in a vacuum outside of reality; it is hard to comprehend being in the public eye all the way out here.

I am glad that you found my data beneficial, and that my friend was so well looked after. Keep an eye on him, will you? He’s liable to start another war just to prove himself right.

Rest assured, we are all feeling the pressure here. I won’t tell you what you’re bound to already know, but yes, we’ve made some amazing progress this past month. It’s the first time success has felt tangible. But I’m tired. We all are. 

Stay safe.

Liara 

\--

Hey there, how’s my girl going?

I hear some congratulations are in order, or will be soon if things go smoothly. It’s all the queen bees down here are buzzing about, but you probably know that. We’re all anxious to get off this rock, the humans most of all. Still, for all they bitch and moan about the strain on their resources, they’ve gotten a buttload of (mostly) free labour dedicated to reconstruction. Yeah, yeah, they’ve suffered too; I just wish I didn’t have to always hear about it. Also they didn’t make their food so damn salty.

Your crew seem to be doing well. I see that little dish of a Spectre fairly often, and Vakarian’s almost always around the Primarch. He looks like a squeezed-out sponge though; Victus must be working him hard. Oh, and last month the little quarian Admiral reconfigured my prosthetic like a dream.

It feels like ages since your last shore-leave. Make sure you take a break every once in a while; Nezie used to work herself to the bone, and I suspect you’ve inherited her fastidiousness.

By Athame’s supple breasts, am I sick of playing Councillor, though. The other old gals are still trying to play an extra-long game, which just doesn’t work when we’re stranded in Sol. The krogan aren’t too fond of us, and the turians are well cosy with humanity now. I can’t wait to hear what we’ll have to answer to once the Relay’s running again. That will be the shit-storm of the era.

Anyway, enough of an old bird’s rambling. Safe to say I miss you hun.

Aethyta

\--

I miss you too, Father.

I

[message saved to drafts]

\--

Liara,

I worry sometimes, about you. Stuck up in that old rust bucket trying to save us all. Even our technicians who worked on it said its rough (and that means a lot, coming from us).

You have been up there too long, and I barely hear from you. I still miss when we were all a spanner’s throw away on the Normandy. On all the ships I’ve served on, that one felt like home. Maybe that was all Shepard’s doing, but I’d hate for us to lose each other over distance. 

Sometimes I imagine what she’d do in my place, struggling as I am with the Admiralty. They’re being bosh’tets, as usual. They want so much to get home that they forget how much our live-ships are needed here.

I know you’re doing everything you can. I’m just frustrated. And worried.

Let me know when you’re next on Earth.

Tali

\--

What the hell, Liara? How long have you been sitting on this?

And why did I have to learn about it through Javik?

Garrus

\--

Garrus,

You know about as much as I do.

Don’t go haring off half cocked, I have agents for that. Investigations are being made, I’ll keep you updated. Imagine what would happen if this got out? She wouldn’t be safe, wherever she is.

Liara

\--

Doctor T’Soni,

I have fulfilled your request. Your associate is annoying, but paranoid. I approve.

Massani has offered me work, which I have accepted. Refrain from disapproving, he is a valuable ally. He has offered his aid in our side venture, which I am yet to accept.

Javik

\--

~~Javik,~~

~~I’m still angry at you for~~

~~You’re still insufferable~~

~~I am going mad in this station, nothing I try is working and I just want it to be done~~

~~You may have been right about me~~

~~Are you ok~~

~~I mi~~

[message saved to drafts]

\--

Javik,

Good luck. If your search is successful, you’ll have more than the SB breathing down your neck.

Don’t get yourself killed.

Liara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, the line between writing in depth, internal characterisation and writing self indulgent angst is REALLY fine. Not sure I managed. Mainly the point is both of them are not in great places at the moment, and somehow, Liara thought being stuck on a research station in the middle of the arse-end of the system in the name of the greater good was a good idea.
> 
> Anyway, would love to hear your thoughts, as always :p
> 
> Glossary:
> 
> Kamada: Prothean word for the imperial court.  
> Marbar Ya: Prothean word for the carers of young.  
> Shihiid: Martyr  
> Soaxiib: Prothean word for comrade, typically referring to experienced, familiar military teams.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Four and a half years is a long time to be dead,” she whispered, voice as rough and worn as desert sand. A bandaged hand jerked towards her [ruined] face, and her despondence seeped out from the seams in her skin.

.

.

**25.**

Cramped from the shuttle ride and bristling with an edge he’d not felt for years, Javik inhaled deeply and touched the air before him [not stale, fair quality] [small crew]. Long [lonely] months of dead ends and false leads had done little for Javik’s patience, for all that he tried to master it. It had been some tricky flying and [unprecedented] tact that had finally allowed the prothean to board the unmarked fighter vessel slinking over Mars.

Would that this mission be successful [defeat was not a taste he welcomed]. 

Still, it would not do to be careless. The Prodigal was not to be underestimated [an ice wall of calculation] [efficient, ruthless, and obsessed with human dominance]. Javik could taste her presence. Liara had forwarded him extensive personnel files as soon as she’d heard his meagre findings [path finder and puzzle breaker] [it had been too long]. 

[Now here he was] [not stepping on the asari’s coat as she tried to bear both their sorrows on her own]. 

Biotics hung close under his skin; behind the usual hum of the engines, all was quiet. Flexing his fingers, Javik fought the urge to ready his rifle [mouth dry, eyes alight]. This was no battle-ground [supposedly].

None met Javik as he clambered from the airlock. The deck was empty, though the peculiarities of the ship’s mostly human crew seeped in from the walls and floor [hard-bitten] [ruthless] [redemption]. A motlier crew he’d known, but not by much. 

A cold chill slid down his spine as his senses flared [read calculation and wariness]. A cool, clipped voice commanded from behind him.

“That’s far enough, for the moment.”

Javik stilled, yet a biotic charge lingered at his fingertips. Careful footsteps approached [but not too close], though he made no movement. The slim figure behind him was most certainly female [a white pillar in the gloom], the Talon pistol she wielded was steady and sure. 

His lips curled when she halted [hesitation, uncertainty] [a gamble for them both]; protheans had greater periphery vision then most accounted for and if she move against him he would end her.

“We both know you do not intend to use that,” Javik told her.

“You assume that I regard you with some kind of value,” the human replied shortly. “I do not.”

Hands still hanging by his sides, Javik twitched his long fingers. Her posture tightened [focus flared], but the shot was not fired.

“If that were true,” he said, after the grim line of her mouth had tightened. “You would not have let me get so close.”

“Perhaps.”

Javik flashed his teeth as he slowly turned.

“Miranda Lawson,” he stated, meeting her shrewd glare for the first time. A tired face [sculptured and stern] studied his own. Against her better judgement [he could tell], she did not fire.

“You’ve put a lot of effort into finding me, Prothean,” she eventually said, eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“To find Shepard.”

Lawson stilled at that; her genetic perfections did not hide the short burst of turmoil from her chest. Javik scoffed and tilted back his chin [in defiance and disdain].

“If you did not want to be found,” Javik said, deliberately nonchalant [a tactic learnt from the Commander] [her deliberate disingenuousness disgusted him]. “You should not have leaked that footage.”

“I wanted to see what the Shadow Broker would do with it,” Lawson’s look was impatient and levelled [unforgiving]. Her gaze flickered from the rifle on his back, across his chest and to his fingers [she might have a gun on hand, but he would be quicker to fire]. “Apparently she sent you.”

Javik let the sharp edge of his teeth show. Her grip on the Talon tightened, knuckles bone white [she had changed from their meeting on the Citadel] [she had not changed at all].

“Yes.” That was all the answer she needed [was going to get] [despite the jeer on his tongue].

“What made you think it was her?” Lawson asked, expression unreadable and Javik blinked.

“Hope.” The word fell off his tongue [a star-scape of freckles over a flash of blue].

“You do not strike me as the hopeful kind,” countered the human [curse her perceptiveness] [and his own carelessness]. It was the galling presumption, the recognition he saw in Lawson’s face that irked him the most.

“I did not say it was my hope,” Javik answered.

The human female paused at that, but only for a moment. 

“And for what purpose?” Her head tilted to the side [curious] [contemplative].

“I owe the Commander a debt that cannot be overlooked,” Javik said, surprised at the emotion that lay in his throat [at the sentiment] [he hadn’t thought to have a stake in this mission] [had done it for…]. “You did find her.”

A long, silent moment passed [a decision sparked around the human] before Miranda Lawson lowered her Talon and gave one curt nod.

Heat spread across his chest, and it was a moment before Javik recognised it as victory [the Commander was alive] [mission accomplished].

“Is she alive?”

Lawson sighed with the burdens of an old-one.

“As much as she can be.”

Honest, at least [and mildly encouraging]. Any other answer would have made Javik wary.

“Take me there,” he demanded.

Lawson tensed, eyes flickering over him once again like a bad habit [analysing] [assessing] [she needed help, he saw].

“Ok.”

 

.

.

**26.**

“Osiris, this is Porthmeío III, we have successfully crossed the river. I repeat, this is Porthmeío III. We’re in Arcturus System. We’ve done it!”

The response was loud and resounding, with more than a few tears. Cole wiped his eyes, glasses askew atop his head. Doctors Lok and Lao sobbed into each other, swaying widely. Beside her, Lurkin Vel grinned as he held Mau’s face between his spindly fingers.

For herself, Liara let out a long and shuddering sigh as the barbed, anxious wires in her chest fizzled and dissolved. She fell back against a console, palms flat against the surface as the roaring cheer around her continued. 

“We did it,” she whispered to herself, trying out the truth of it in her mouth. “By the Goddess, we’ve fixed the Relays.”

She was determined not to cry, touching her tongue to the back of her teeth; Liara had wept too often since the war’s end. 

Or maybe she had not wept enough.

Her colleagues jostled and danced about her, but only Mau approached for a congratulatory embrace. The human particle-physicist squeezed her tightly, and Liara was surprised by the sincerity of it, if not the intensity. 

“Can you believe it?” Mau exclaimed, round cheeks stretched to smiling. “We can go home now!” 

Shaking her head, Liara fought the well of emotion that clambered up her throat and into her sinuses. Tongue heavy like a stone, the asari could only grin weakly, with fingers that clutched at Mau’s sleeves.

“We did it, T’Soni,” repeated Mau like a promise, and Liara thought that she too struggled with the belief of what they have achieved. In her wake, Liara sagged; relief is an exhausting sensation. Around her, the party seems to just be getting started.

What would Javik make of this, she wondered, moving her arms to hold herself. A low ache arched through her chest at the thought.

That she and Javik had clashed so had been of no surprised; even when the Reapers had borne down on them their discourse had rarely been amiable. More than once his barbed words had wounded her. More than once they’d been a balm.

Likely he would have disparaged the celebration as primitive and premature. Would the prothean have stood next to her in silence, or let slip some glib comment for only her to hear and become cross over?

Liara had never worked well in groups, and friends had been few in coming after the Hoffman incident. Which had been fine. Solitary study suited her, and Javik rarely tried to make himself an easy companion to interlopers into their bickering. 

She hadn’t expected to miss him.

Biting her tongue, Liara watched the joyful display around her. Relief, yes, rolled along her limbs, but she did not feel relieved. There was still so much to do, too much to find. Her Broker network lay scattered and adrift, despite Feron’s hard work. Thessia presumably still lay in ruin, collapsed under its own self-righteousness. And Shepard.

Shepard lay hidden in some corner of this system, with Javik and who knew else hunting after her. 

Her work on the Relay was done; the translation cypher was complete and theoretically compatible with the other Relays. Javik could still decry her as selfish; perhaps she was, but Liara had always followed her heart. Project Osiris was done with her, and she would not weep to see the back of it.

Steel curled around the asari’s heart; she had a mission, a goal, and now no obligations to hold her back.

.

.

**27.**

It would be an easy thing, to kill her.

Javik was not surprised by the thought, or shocked [he has been ruthless for a long time].

The broken shell of a human that lay on the patchwork med-bed was little more than a corpse. His trigger finger itched [waited for the corpse to rise with an agonised screech] [waited to put it down]. It did not rise. Only laboured [agonised] breath emerged from the shattered dome of flesh and cybernetics that had once been the Commander [only meat and tubes].

Lawson spoke not [plump mouth grim] [worried like a she-varren], moving immediately to the blue lit monitor that spelt out the tragic breadth of the Commander’s existence. A sick feeling stirred in Javik’s stomach; the Prodigal’s frown conveyed all he needed [wanted] to know. 

Blinking slowly, Javik marked out the ripples and ridges of scarring that consumed the Commander’s face; little remained [endured] of her sharp features apart from one high cheekbone and the hooked bend of her nose. The hair on her scalp [once so long, thick and gleaming] had been shorn off and what limbs [lean and strong] remained were encased in bandaged and braces. He thought of Shepard as he’d last seen her; battle-bright and charging into the heart of darkness [beating back the red veil of death]. This thing before him could not be her [cannot be Shepard] [it was cruel].

Javik’s teeth ground together; this was no fitting end for a warrior [so much more than a soldier] [an avatar]. It would be a mercy, to snuff out the small, shallow life that lay before him [bile rose in this throat].

“Everything appears stable,” Lawson observed, oblivious to his horror at her meddling. The sheer arrogance of defying the universe and attempting this resurrection impressed Javik, even as it made him flinch. “The old cybernetics held up surprising well, considering. Some things couldn’t be salvaged, obviously.”

“Limited by your skill?” He said, just to needle her.

“By funds and resources,” the engineered human replied snidely [face twisting at the hint of failure]. “It hasn’t been easy keeping this operation completely under wraps.”

Overly cautious to the point of paranoia; another thing Javik begrudgingly admired her [the human] for.

“She’s still under the effects of Propofol; I wanted to be finished with all the major reconstruction before bringing her out of this medically induced coma.” Lawson’s fingers darted over the med-screens. 

Javik grunted [did she dream in pain?] [he hoped not], and slowly circled the bed.

Yes, it would be simple to murder them both [the corpse for mercy] [the prodigal for Shepard]. 

The loss [his loss] of the Commander had been mitigated by the knowledge that, for her at least, the fight was over. A ghost laid to rest [a weary soul now at peace]. Victory could not live long after a war; that was Javik’s burden to shoulder [would that he could end the fight].

And yet, through sheer conceit and stubbornness, the body that had once been Shepard lay breathing before him, and though every part of his being screamed to put it down, Javik could not raise his arm to do so.

[I won’t abandon her again] [he remembered the desperation]. How much would it break the asari’s heart to see the Commander so?

[would it break her to learn he’d fired the bullet?]

Those twisted, bandaged hands had gripped his own and told him to live, thanked him for his service [his service!] [as if every cause he’d fought for hadn’t failed]. Her smirk when out-shooting the turian was a mere echo on the slack line of her mouth.

And yet [had he not been born from death-like slumber].

And yet [did he too not wish to see the future they’d fought for].

Had not he promised Liara he would find the truth of Shepard’s end?

Javik’s hand curled into bitter fists. Lawson [still] did not look at him [dedicated to her macabre work of art]. He made himself exhale, and inhale, and exhale again [to live was such a burden] [would the Commander thank him for this mercy?]. His two hands had dealt so much death through the long years of his life [what was the life of another comrade?].

Liara had asked him to find her. Lawson asked him to protect her. Shepard had once asked Javik to fight beside her.

Biotics hummed at the back of his mind; he had seen atrocities far worse than this [he was a soldier] [he was the last of his kind]. Who was Javik to decide that Shepard’s current half-life could not be what she wanted because he feared she would greet it with wider arms than he?

Would Shepard smile at this cycle, now free from the yoke of extermination? Could he?

[No] [not yet] [he feared too much].

But for this moment, Javik resolved, he would not fear [not his own failings] [not his own loss] [not even the future]. 

Shepard lived. He lived. So did the asari. The rest would be endured. 

.

.

**28.**

Of all the places she’d expected Feron to meet her, a drell massage parlour was not even close to her expectations. 

Liara had not even known that such a business enterprise existed on Earth, though in hindsight, it shouldn’t have surprised her. The major forced integration of council races on the human home-world inspired many changes; inevitable given the long delay in rebuilding the Mass Relays. Three months back in service, and still Vancouver looked more like the Citadel then it did an Earth city.

Still, drell were a rarity, and Feron was as wary as he was sly. Hiding in the small community was ideal to throw the Shadow Broker’s enemies off his scent.

The lithe drell female who greeted her curtsied prettily before leading Liara further inside. Cardamon and bilka-spice wafted through the small parlour, decorated with all manner of brightly woven drapes. She smiled as the attendant led her to a small room, before curtsying again as she left and closed the door.

Hand on her brow, Liara leant against the massage bed, wondering what came next. A loud, chiming melody drifted through the room.

“There, I thought you’d never get here.”

The start in her heart began as shock, but turned quickly to joy at the sight of the lean drell.

“Feron!” She stood in an instant, reaching out to grasp his hands. “It’s good to see you.”

With a crooked smile, the drell squeezed her fingers tightly. 

“Words cannot describe, my friend,” Feron exclaimed, red chin bobbing as his words rushed out in a stream. “I still can’t believe you did it.”

Moisture prickled at the corner of her eyes as Liara bit back laugh. Or perhaps it was a sob. He smirked at that, but not unkindly, before leading her to a pair of wicker chairs to sit.

“Neither can I,” she replied huskily. So much felt unreal. “I still wake up expecting to be on that wretched station.”

Working on the Relays had taken more of a toll on Liara than expected. Even her father hesitated before bringing up her time spent of Project Osiris, and Aethyta never blunted her words.

If Project Osiris had been stressful before Javik had left, after it had been nigh unbearable. It almost made her laugh. Difficult and frequently arrogant, the prothean had been a familiar opponent with which to butt heads with. Their snappish exchanges at least made for invigorating dialogue with the familiarity of old comradery. There’d been a kind of comfort in that. If he did question every aspect of her research, at least it at least made Liara thorough in her conclusions. 

Liara had always preferred to work alone. So many researchers in such a small space working on an impossible task and all recovering from the war in some manner or another; that none before her had snapped was surprising. She hadn’t certainly been the last. Even before the footage had been received, Liara just hadn’t expected to suffocate so among strangers. 

Feron though, was like coming home. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d met in person. Before the war, most likely. Before Liara had charged to Mars, in any case.

“I worried,” he said, large eyes blinking with guileless sincerity. “But it is done, and now those who want to leave this wretched rock can do so.”

“Will you?”

“No, not yet,” Feron paused, and withdrew his hands to clasp them together. “Once the network is more firmly established. Earth will be an important player in this new cycle, I think.”

His black gaze shifted from wall hangings to the furnishings to her; always alert and remembering. A small shrine to the side made his lips curl softly. 

“You like it here,” Liara observed, but gently.

“Yes. Well.” His fingers drummed against the armrests as he ducked his head. “Things are so much more vivid on Earth, and Kahje never held much appeal. You?”

The question threw her; Liara had not thought about staying on Earth, or of wanting to stay. Now the Relays were working, rebuilding her data streams to better look for Shepard took priority. And then there was the matter of Thessia. Somehow, what she wanted had not been a factor. 

“I-I’m not sure,” Liara stammered, crest tingling. “It depends…”

“On our venture?” Feron had always been quick on the uptake.

“Yes.”

The chimes deepened as bells tinkled like rain throughout the song. It felt like a dream, to be simply seated so. No klaxons of war, no snide judgements and bluster. Feron breathed deeply as his eyes fluttered closed. Liara bit her lip.

“There’s been no word,” Feron said at last, looking away. “Not since Mars and Massani’s colourful report.”

The drell framed the words carefully, and Liara knew he’d discerned some if not most of her feelings on the subject. Never mind that Javik was a seasoned soldier and one of the finest biotics she knew; worry came regardless. Don’t think of Garrus’s constant requests for news.

And regret; in the end, she hadn’t been able to help him at all. 

“I know,” she answered quietly. “I guess he found something, then.”

The alternative made her heart clench.

“Will you go after him?” Feron asked.

Liara hissed through her teeth and shook her head.

“No.” The words felt heavy on her tongue, like Athame’s judgement on the selfish. “He said this was something he had to do. I trust him, and I won’t interfere again unless asked for.”

And trust him she did, even before he’d asked. Demanded really; when the prothean proclaimed that she was far too compromised to objectively search for Shepard he’d insisted that she remain at Project Osiris. Fix the Relays like Javik had seemed to think she could. Trust that he would find Shepard, or at least answers to her fate.

Javik had kept her informed, at first, and she’d helped as far as she was able to from the dead end of the system. Not that she waited for each terse email, memorising every word to heart. If was enough to know he endured. It was only after his potential lead on Miranda Lawson on Mars that her enquiries had no follow up.

By the Goddess, if that woman had hurt him…

“Of course.” Feron agreed, bringing Liara out of her thoughts. “But, that is not what you wanted to talk to me about.”

“No,” Liara said, shoulders slumping a moment before she drew herself up again. Aethyta had advised caution, so soon after the galaxy had been reunited. Asari had the time to consider drastic action and all contingencies before making any move of significance. The blessing of her people, it was claimed.

Liara did not want time; she wanted justice. Her crest shivered in line with her quick beating heart. 

“I want to gather everything we can about who knew about the Prothean Beacon inside the Temple of Athame,” she began, teeth bare. “Then I want to restore the VI known as Vendetta and learn what exactly the Matriarchs learnt from it, and then I want tear apart the layer of lies and hypocrisy that had governed and betrayed my people since the Athame herself walked on Thessia.”

Feron blinked, once, twice and thrice.

“Oh?” He said mildly, faintly. “Is that all, then?”

.

.

**29.**

“I’m nervous.”

Javik did not look up from the small corner he’d claimed in the bleached white room. It was not the first time the [frustrating] sentiment had been voiced, and as before, the prothean had no idea how to answer the vulnerability in the Commander’s voice.

“You’ll be fine,” soothed the young female [human] [Orianna] [softer then her own-kin], tucking a short tuft of Shepard’s hair behind an ear. Javik snorted.

The Commander’s one remaining eye flickered his way [as discerning as ever]. The crease of her lip bent [unhappily] down.

“Four and a half years is a long time to be dead,” she whispered, voice as rough and worn as desert sand. A bandaged hand jerked towards her [ruined] face, and her despondence seeped out from the seams in her skin.

For certain, little about the Commander remained unchanged. Her voice, for one [once strong like a battle-roar]. Her face, what didn’t bear burns, was scarred by the electric lines of her armour. She was an echo of the human he had followed into battle [into victory].

What hadn’t changed was her stubbornness; two months after fully regaining consciousness and Shepard had brow-beaten Lawson into breaking the years of silence around this operation so as to speak to Vakarian [even he had not been able to convince the Prodigal to contact the asari]. Somehow [despite her sleep], the Commander’s attachment to the turian had not faded.

He wondered why her face mattered so; surely the turian did not find her attractive [unthinkable] [cross-species relations were unpractical and absurd]. How Shepard and Vakarian appealed to one another in the first place was beyond him.

“You have been dead before,” Javik told her woodenly. Orianna scowled at him for that [protective], which he ignored. 

She, out of all of them in this hidden place, was able to put the Commander at ease [shared sentiment] [unfocused and empathetic]. Lawson loved the girl for it [he remembered that kind of love, from long ago] [but the memory was unclear]; regarded her as the better part of herself. Shepard tried to smile [reassuring]. Javik observed the differences experience bred.

What an absurd mess he had joined, this quest to protect Shepard and aid in her recovery.

Air rattled out of the Commander’s lungs [a chuckle] [a sob] and she squirmed in her bed, scowling.

“Not quite like this,” Shepard seethed [anxious, alone, angry]. 

Javik wished he did not understand her emotions so well [could kill her in a moment if he wished] [but that would not quiet him]. His lips thinned as the book snapped shut [the words eluded him] [sand in water].

“You know he has not stopped waiting,” he pointed out [patiently] [again]. In light of her damaged hands, Javik had been [unfortunately] required to transcribe the Commander’s correspondence to her alien mate. Her insecurity was unnerving [Shepard was a force of nature] [a trail blazer] [not a mewling muddle of worry]. So many times he’d found himself shocked by the frail, fierce human that had survived beyond reason.

Shepard grimaced and closed her remaining eye, a dark shadow against her torn face.

“Well, he’s about to get one hell of a shock,” she mumbled. The lines along her cheek deepened [from pain] [all kinds] [what was it that made him understand?].

“The biggest shock would have been finding out you were alive,” Orianna scoffed softly at the both of them, straitening Shepard’s gown and blankets. The Commander’s laugh was rough and wispy and so unlike her that Javik shuddered.

The prothean had written to Liara exactly once to tell her that the Commander was [barely] alive, and to wait. Lawson’s encryption prevented a reply, so he did not know how the asari had taken the news [weeping?] [a shuddered breath?]. 

Was she still angry at him [eyes dark with resentment, purpled by loss], Javik wondered, or was she aggrieved that he [Javik] was here, beside the Commander while she [the asari] [Liara] was barred by distance and secrecy?

“What does it even matter?” Javik snapped [hearts inexcusably hurting]. “You are not of the same kind. Physical attraction should have no holding in your regard for one another.”

The Commander’s mouth stretched and dipped open, but [expected] the snappy retort did not come. Orianna shook her head [a pretence to wisdom], and Javik tracked the weary bruises around Shepard’s [tired] eyes. 

“I’ve missed him so much,” the Commander said instead.

The fight left him at the longing in her voice [the love].

“I know,” he replied.

The monitor perched at the foot of the bed sparked to life. They all jumped.

“Almost on, Shepard,” came Lawson’s curt [unhappy] voice over the com-channel. “Ori, can you bring up the screen?”

White fuzz blurred the screen, and he can taste the bent shape Shepard’s nervousness [swirling like salt]. Static blared loud like a fanfare, before finally clearing. Javik curled his lip and sat back in his chair. 

“Hello? Shepard?”

Shepard snapped bolt upright [so much straighter than previously managed] [the physio therapist would be so vexed to see]. The rapid beat of her [strong] heart practically thundered around the small room; the ink-well of her eye frantic in searching the screen.

“Garrus?”

[Hope, fear, awe] [it hurt to hear]. The image cleared, revealing an agitated, scarred turian pressed too close to the camera.

“Spirits, it really is you!”

[Love] [love burst from the Commander like a star-birth] [like a hurricane]. Javik’s bony hands gripped his book [in confusion] [with longing]. In his cycle, emotion was to be endured, not celebrated [an unfortunate inevitability] [a hindrance to war] [a mild precursor to reproduction]. A bandaged [brave] hand shook as it reached for the screen in vain.

“Vakarian,” Shepard’s voice cracked like a rifle-shot, water streaming down her [uneven] cheek [exhausted and wrenching]. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

The image of Vakarian ducked his head, a high pitched keening audible through the transmission [he was glad he could not taste it].

“Said the varren to the beltua,” the turian said at last, blue eyes bright without the visor. 

“That better be a flattering comparison,” Shepard chuckled wetly. Vakarian’s mandibles flared.

Their battle-banter thrummed over the emotion [discordant] [yet so aligned]. This was not for him to read, Javik knew [too raw], and yet he and the human girl bore witness to this reunion like custodians of its truth [like they understood what this was]. When he looked at Orianna, a soft smile graced her pale face [why did it terrify him?] [to feel so].

Vakarian reached out to the screen, and through space and time, their fingers touched.

“It means…oh Shepard it means I missed you,” he crooned gently.

“Same here, love,” Shepard soothed [sobbed] [laughed]. “Same here.”

Javik [must] looked away, sense-nodes burning and jaw clenched.

.

.

**30.**

She stood back, at first, frozen form fear and disbelief. Garrus and Grunt dashed forward to the wheelchair bound figure being pushed down the ramp by, of all people, Miranda Lawson’s sister. Never mind the armed guards, Alliance soldiers and Miranda’s operatives, side by side to herald a champion’s return. Liara’s feet refused to move, but her fingers trembled violently.

“Shepard!” Grunt cried; a child dancing around his hero. “I knew they couldn’t kill you!”

Garrus simply fell to his knees before her, shoulders shaking as he pressed her bent hands to his face in supplication.

Liara couldn’t breathe at the jagged smile, the crinkled eye, the kiss pressed against Garrus’s brow. A storm howled in her chest, sparking her crest. Surely her ribs would crack soon, and the tempest of emotion would spill forth for all to see. 

_Thank you,_ she prayed to no one. To everyone. _Goddess, thank you._

Beside her, James Vega sniffed, wiping his eyes with the back of his meaty hand. Before them Grunt gestured wildly, peppering Shepard with questions that were mostly answered by Orianna. For her part, Shepard patted Grunt’s face and held his hand, before returning her warm gaze to Garrus.

Oh, it hurt her heart, but so sweetly. Long songs had been sung by her people of the bittersweet return of lost old loves. Even as Vega pushed her forward, Liara could not focus on the destination, could not glimpse the female human who had stormed into her life so many years ago and changed the course of it forever through her tears.

“Oh Shepard,” they heard Garrus murmur upon approach, talon gentle against her damaged cheek.

“Well, you weren’t at the bar,” Shepard replied. “So I had to come back to find you.”

Her feet stumbled, but Vega was at her elbow, shaky himself with emotion. He cleared his throat loudly, and Shepard glanced up, sharp like a bird of prey.

“Damn Lola,” Vega choked. “You’re like a cockroach. Except, you know, with less legs.”

Heat burned Liara’s eyes, her crest, her throat. Shepard was alive. Alive and broken and sewn back together, and even damaged so, Shepard was beautiful. 

“More so now, right James?” Shepard quipped with a glance at her missing and damaged legs, voice croaking with effort. At her knees, Garrus thumbed her knee with gentle talons. Grunt guffawed loudly, making Orianna start. 

Liara lost her breath when her friend finally turned her way. 

“Liara,” Shepard sighed. “You’re here.”

“Shepard,” the asari gasped, pushing forward to run her hands along Shepard’s uneven jaw, to kiss Shepard’s dear cheek. “By the Goddess, it’s good to see you.”

There were more tears, more words of wonder. Vega and Grunt boasted of Shepard’s many ludicrous and frankly fictional feats. Garrus clung close, pushing her chair despite his limp. 

She watched as he stroked her hair, and the Commander, looking back to smile with to see him at her six. Liara hung back, tried not to invade their tender closeness. As much as she wanted to take a hold of Shepard, just to know she was real, it would not do. Her weary heart knew that. 

So, Liara paced herself, satisfied herself with the low timbre of the Commander’s laugh as she hung back to talk to another remarkable human.

“I’m impressed,” she said, as the soft footsteps of Miranda Lawson met her stride. “No…I’m grateful. Thank you.”

Miranda bristled a little, gaze moving from her sister to Shepard with a watchful regularity.

“Hm,” the human female hummed. “She will need ongoing care. And protection.”

Liara nodded in agreement.

“There will be no shortage of that.”

“Is that from the councillor’s daughter or from the Shadow Broker?” Miranda asked, almost snide, almost sincere. Liara’s answering look was as arch and regal as any of her mother’s.

“Is there a difference?”

“I’d say you’d know that better than anyone,” Miranda responded, arms crossed. A curl to her lips belied her condescension. They were very alike, Liara thought as the human glanced up at the light sound of her sister’s laughter. Both craved intimacy as much as they feared it.

A flutter of dark lashes, and Miranda returned her penetrating gaze. Liara had been staring, she realised; a bad habit she hadn’t noticed until the Normandy.

“The prothean didn’t come with us,” the ex-Cerberus operative said at last. Liara wet her lips and schooled her expression to neutrality. 

“I know,” Of course she knew; her network had picked up on a four eyed alien as soon as he’d stepped off the ship and into the space-port. “He left on Ganymede.”

Miranda raised her brows but said nothing, and Liara wondered what she’d inadvertently revealed.

She thought of Javik as he was on that final shuttle down to Earth, stern and sure and so ready to fight. It had been so easy to believe his unsaid promise of survival, gold eyes wide and unblinking and she’d trusted his conviction. To find him in that filthy bar after the war, bloody faced and bruised from the fighting ring had angered Liara more than she’d anticipated. He’d looked like a caged varren with his hackles raised and ready to go.

His hopelessness had infuriated her. She’d wanted to banish it, to help the prothean by inviting him to Project Osiris. Another failure, it seemed, though at least the despair had left him for a time. Liara hoped it had not returned.

“How did he seem?” She asked instead.

“Seem?”

“Did he-” Liara paused, fingers tapping her arm as she pondered what words would convey her sentiment. “Was he in good spirits?”

“Oh.” Miranda shrugged and waved an unconcerned hand. “I suppose so. As much as he ever was.”

Liara did not miss the deliberate elusiveness of her answer. A flush traced over her crest, and Liara wondered at Miranda’s motive. Curiosity or caution? 

“Hm,” mused the asari, keeping her voice light. “I know Javik’s not the most personable of people.”

Whatever reaction she’d expected, the short bark of laughter surprised her. Miranda’s smile was amused, but not particularly kind.

“Believe me, I’m aware,” the human biotic said through her teeth. Then Miranda sighed, and ran a hand through her black hair as if to shake out her own sternness. “Whenever he spoke on my work, it was always to compare my intellect unfavourably to your own.”

“Oh.”

Liara blinked, and then blushed a deep zaffre blue.

“It’s not as much of a compliment as you think,” she managed to mumble. Honestly, that Javik mentioned her at all, let alone with any kind of regard, was a surprise. Liara wound her fingers together, and tried not to imagine the prothean’s good opinion. To her credit, Miranda kept most of her amusement from showing before taking the lead to catch up to her sister.

It was a start, Liara supposed. Ahead, a turian pushed a wheel-chair bound human, krogan to the right and two humans to the left. An interesting tableau, even as some part of the asari lamented that she had no place there.

A weight, at least, was off her heart, for both Shepard and Javik. She would worry still, but Liara was the Shadow Broker. She could care for them at a distance; in some ways she was better at that then hands on companionship. 

And now, of course, her next endeavour could have her complete, indomitable focus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, apparently I have a lot of feelings about the asari witholding their prothean beacon until it was far too late. Also, this chapter was meant to end with another reunion, but I ended up adding in more scenes so I wasn't info dumping at the beginning of each segment. Whoops. Trying to write a coherent story is hard.
> 
> I added Grunt in, cause there's no way Shep's massive dinosaur child wouldn't be in the front row waiting for space-mum to come home. All the other companions were off world and/or not informed.
> 
> Also, Miranda is bloody hard to write.
> 
>  
> 
> Glossary
> 
> Kamada: Prothean word for the imperial court.  
> Marbar Ya: Prothean word for the carers of young.  
> Shihiid: Martyr  
> Soaxiib: Prothean word for comrade, typically referring to experienced, familiar military teams.  
> Kamen: Quarian word for object


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mention of suicide.

.

.

**31.**

_“It has become obvious that mistakes were made prior to the Reaper Invasion. Something in our system failed, and I sure as hell want to find out what.”_

_“Comments have been made at involving your daughter in this taskforce.”_

_“As I said, this task force will be run by Agent Ousia Malleolus, as approved by the Council. Dr Liara T’Soni is only involved as a consultant. As approved by the Council.”_

“Something grab your attention?”

Javik blanched, bumped his drink and cursed as the liquid sloshed over the glass’s rim [clumsy, careless] [fool]. He glowered up at the violet-hued [broad shouldered and long toothed] asari that leant over the table opposite him. At his scowl, she waggled her brows lewdly before snorting into the back of her hand [mirth ripe and red].

“Lladunn, stop teasing,” admonished her younger [agate blue, white markings on chin and cheek] companion. Her [pale green] eyes caught on the [cheap] holo-vid above the bar, mouth popping into a surprised circle with recognition. “That was the asari councillor.”

Forgoing a response [let them presume what they would], Javik stole some napkins to mop up the [lamentable] mess on his hands. As if the rustic [seedy] bar they were currently ensconced in was not painful enough. At least it was only water [he dared not touch another drop of hard liquor] [not after the shameful state he’d sunk to so quickly], though it was unforgivably careless for him to have been startled so, and by [sly] Lladunn of all primitives.

The asari in question flicked him with the foam from her beer [petty], before turning to her partner [Synnel the young].

“Yeah. Apparently there’s a big furore about the Matriarchs on Thessia deciding to withhold their aid until the last minute during the war.” The older, brash asari shrugged, mood souring to a tart orange flavour. “There’s also rumour that they kept back prothean tech.”

“The Matriarchs would never!” Shock [bright and peppery] sizzled over the [blue] asari’s skin as she looked between Lladunn and himself. Javik scoffed at her naïve horror [had seen it before] [had not the patience for more].

Still, he [Javik] could not suppose it was coincidence that had Liara T’Soni’s name attached to an investigation into asari high command involving misconduct regarding a prothean beacon [the prothean beacon]. No, it was likely by her design, though Javik could only wonder at her end game. Could only remember her rage [steely-eyed and hot with betrayal] [burning at the edges] [she would consume herself].

He shook himself to remove the thought.

Above the bar, the news on the holo-vid had turned to the construction of Victory, the [supposed] new home of the galactic council. Another valiant attempt at sharing galactic power despite the ruins of the Citadel. Javik still did not believe it was a sustainable mode of governance [too many variables] [not enough order], but he had been wrong about this cycle before.

“Syn,” Lladunn snickered [with affection]. “Sometimes you are more of a patsy than I can give credit for.”

“We came up with the policy that forbid the concealment of prothean beacons!” Syn exclaimed, hands wide and waving in earnestness. Javik sighed heavily [impatient and impassive] and tried to ignore their routine debate. Some of the surly locals looked over in interest [punctured by ill-concealed lust]. Asari were [seemingly] always subject to stares [he could not grant why].

Two weeks staking out this particular [dirty and ramshackle] bar in this particular, run-down mining town on Zesmeni had been two weeks too long by Javik’s [increasing low] standards. Poverty stained the walls as resignation stained the people [stuck to his skin like oil]. Every movement, every noise shot his brain into battle [senses stretched out to their limit] [trigger finger ready] [it was so hard to be calm]. At least on Osiris he’d [easily] been the best soldier and most powerful biotic [bar maybe the asari] on the [wretched] station; here [outside] [this peace] was an ocean of unknown quantities.

It was difficult not to twitch at every sudden [unexpected] fluctuation in the atmosphere [any inch of forewarning must be welcomed]. Still, he’d taken for granted what it meant to have a [reliable] [loyal] squad at your back. Though Javik had been working with the two asari for half a galactic year now, he only trusted them enough to not shoot him in the back while in the middle of a bounty hunt [but no further] [he missed the Normandy].

Now, Javik’s hands [always] ached; stretched and thin from enduring this public house [this planet] [this solitary trundle into the future alone] for far too long.

“Are you alright?” 

The sudden direct inquiry made him slam a startled hand onto their table [a slip up] [a warning]. The violet asari did not flinch [unsurprised] [used to her own demons], while Syn nodded with a [far too] kind look in her pale eyes [overly empathetic] [even for an asari].

“Apologies,” Javik mumbled [weak] [foolish], resisting the urge to rub his [tired] eyes. 

All three of them sat in silence; Javik [studiously] watching his hands [for a tremor], Lladunn watched him and Syn eyed the entrance. 

“You were on the Normandy, right?” Lladunn asked [casually] [cleverly], finger tracing patterns on the stained table-top. Javik bristled, snorted and nodded sharply [could not deny it] [let that be the end of it].

“You would know the Councillor’s daughter, then.” When he met her gaze, it was calculating [he did not like it] [did not want to think about her]. “T’Soni?”

Lladunn, Javik decided, was far more cunning then her brashness let on [a good misdirection] [how careless had he become?]. Fists clenched, the prothean shifted in his seat [angle giving easier reach to his rifle easier] before grunting noncommittally.

“Come now, Lladunn,” the younger asari laid a [gentle but forbidding] hand on her companion. “No need to pry. You can see he’s not comfortable talking about it.”

“Oh, but there seems to be such a story there.” 

“Yes,” he agreed, clacking his teeth [spitefully] [would squash the glee in her eyes]. “But it is not for you.”

“Leave him be, love,” Syn repeated, and Javik curled his lip at the affection that wafted through the both of them. “We can’t all be here for your entertainment.” 

Lladunn sucked her teeth, not pausing in her regard and Javik felt a thread of anxiety at the scrutiny [ridiculous] [he had borne worse].

“Guess I’ll just have to make up my own,” grinned the asari, leaning in as her lover chided her.

She could try [she would miss her mark].

.

.

**32.**

“The Councillor is not wrong,” Liara asserted, voice snapping through the tense quiet of the elevator. Ousia Malleolus glanced at her sideways, but said nothing. “This will change everything.”

The thrum of the elevator lanced between asari and turian. By this time tomorrow, the greatest deception of the asari would be laid bare before the galaxy, and the true mettle of her people would be tested. To say that the consequences weighed upon the both of them would be an understatement.

“It’s a press release, Doctor,” Ousia crossed her arms, mandibles held close and weight on one foot; the exact pose of casual caution that Liara had come to recognise in turians. “Nothing to be nervous about.”

Her bravado made Liara chuckle, for all her worries. A lot of hype had been made of the Council’s independent investigation; no one liked the idea that the asari Matriarchs had systematically broken Council law by withholding a prothean beacon. A fully intact beacon that had been the final key in defeating the Reapers, no less. The krogan were particularly cranky, with the turian Hierarchy almost matching them in sentiment; a herald for the great shift in galactic politics that was sure to come. 

As her father had put it, a political shit-storm was a given, so they had damn well better do this right. Somehow, the Council had to maintain some level of stability to manage the chaos of the fallout. The sentiment had been just enough to reign in the white hot fury that compelled Liara to tear up such old secrets and shame like weeds in a garden.

“I rather think there is,” Liara replied, a smile lingered on her lips despite the worries clouding her mind. “A lot of people are going to be very angry with us very soon.”

Ousia sniffed loudly and deliberately, before rolling her shoulders; dark grey features strong and sardonic. The red colony markings gave the turian a sharper edge under the over bright elevator light.

“Do you mean us in particular or asari in general?”

“Both, I suppose,” Liara conceded, brow furrowing. 

Agent Malleolus was something of a hero from Cyone; applauded by both the Turian Hierarchy and Asari Republics for mustering the private turian militia against the Reapers, and Liara had her own notoriety from her time aboard the Normandy. Such public personas were as useful as they were a hindrance. The official nature of their investigation required a heroic protagonist for the spectacle, and Ousia fit the role far better than she. 

Honourable, reliable, clever and renowned for her part in the War, the parallels to Shepard were not subtle. 

Liara was only a consultant, deciphering the records hidden within a rebuilt Vendetta. It had been less than amusing to pretend she knew far less than she did. Aethyta had wanted her out of the limelight altogether; there was enough speculation on Liara’s full involvement with the Shadow Broker as was. 

“Good to know,” Ousia grunted. “Your Matriarchs aren’t stupid; they’ll be angry, of course, but enough of them will see the benefits of change once it becomes clear that it can’t be swept under the carpet.” 

Liara sighed and tucked her hands under her arms; it never did to underestimate the ill-will of any Matriarch, let alone all of them. Retribution was often long in coming and out of star-dust. 

Already, her well known associates had come under scrutiny. Liara tried to shield them as best she could. Shepard had agreed to give her account of the priority mission on Thessia, though she’d asserted that an opinion on the investigation itself would not be made. Tali had sent her a disgruntled email lamenting that reporters were messing up her rock gardens. 

Javik, though, Liara had refused to drag him in to testify. The prothean had his own burdens to shoulder, without adding hers. He’d probably had his fill of asari hurling vitriol at him, in any case.

Noting her discontent, Ousia huffed even as she lay a solid hand on Liara’s shoulder. 

“Stop worrying,” said the turian, brown eyes calm and sure. “Your father didn’t appoint me so I could look pretty as I sung a little song to please the asari. Besides, the Hierarchy are fond enough of me to grant me some measure of protection.”

Liara’s smile felt hollow even as she patted her partner’s hand. Her crest prickled as a small chime heralded the ground floor.

“I know,” she replied after the heavy elevator doors opened. “Forgive me, I can’t seem to help it.”

Ousia’s mandible’s fluttered and her look was of dry amusement.

“I noticed,” she said over her shoulder, before stepping out. Liara pressed her lips together to hide her smile, already outpaced and behind Ousia; the turian had a ridiculous stride. 

A sleek movement from across the lobby caught her eye; a body poised with arm outstretched that sparked warning in her frantic brain. Liara flung her arm out, blue biotics swarming to life even as the racket of gunfire shattered the foyer’s tranquillity and a warning screamed out of her throat.

Too late, too late.

There was suddenly a lot of screaming. Blue splattered the ground. Blood pounded in her chest. Her biotic shield glittered as the turian before her swayed and fell and Liara was already charging forward.

The assailant, crouched behind a sleek sofa, sent more fire her way to slam against the barrier. Hot rage unfurled in Liara’s heart, drove her on as she swept up her other hand, palm up and fingers arched, to tear a warp over the asari assassin.

Too late again, the assassin had darted away, sending a quick biotic surge to distract her. Stopping heavily to deepen her stance, Liara cast aside the attack with both hands. The connecting burst lit the room and rained shattered glass upon them all. Elbows crooked and teeth bare, Liara punched forward with a stasis, not pausing to chase after it.

Against a wall someone was sobbing. Dust clung to the air. She didn’t care.

Already the assassin struggled to regain mobility, slamming a fresh clip into her SMG to bring it up to fire. A fraction of a second, but Liara was but a pace away, palms up and biotics already clambering for release.

The asari’s indigo face paled as Liara’s clawed fingers tore a warp through the air and her body. No chance to miss at point blank range. Deep blue blood erupted from her wounds at the impact, followed by a strained gurgle.

Breath heavy and eyes dark, Liara stormed forward to the mangled mess she’d made. The asari assassin struggled weakly to edge away, to no avail. Biotics curled around her hands, but Liara forwent the pleasure of unleashing another warp to step on the hand still curled around the SMG. Unconcerned by the whimper it produced, she leaned down to study her would-be killer.

Older then her, but not by much. Three white marking across each cheek, a strait nose and eyes far apart. Liara’s jaw clenched at the make of the gun and armour; EERCS and Serrice Council respectively. Not cheap, and both had significant ties to various Matriarchs. The yellow Eclipse logo adorning them was too obvious to be anything but a diversion.

“Who sent you?” Liara hissed, pressing down with her boot. The assassin’s eyes rolled, and then narrowed as a crack came from her jaw. Startled, Liara reached out, only to meet a spluttered choke fizzling from the assailant’s mouth. 

_Poison,_ she thought bitterly. Likely hidden in a tooth. A scream rattled her chest and clambered at her throat.

“Dammit,” Liara spat instead, as the assassin’s body went limp. 

All at once the air left her lungs and a bone-crushing weight struck her shoulders. Hands shaking, Liara traced the thick line of blood that ran down her right arm; she hadn’t even noticed being hit. Couldn’t even feel the pain. Sour bile rose at the back of her mouth, and Liara had to try very hard not to kick the dead body at her feet.

Somewhere behind her was another body, sprawled on the ground and riddled with bullets. There’d been no mistaking the way Ousia had hit the ground. Liara’s barrier hadn’t been fast enough, wide enough and her fists clenched. 

Small shuffles sounded with the crinkle of glass, and absently Liara wondered if any bystanders had been caught in the crossfire. Did not look around to check. Tried not to think of the child Ousia had left behind.

Her hands were shaking. Her eyes were hot. An assassin had been sent to silence them. Her partner was dead behind her for being the face of Liara’s cause.

So.

So.

By the Goddess, this would be answered.

.

.

**33.**

The cracked pavement that led up to the turian-style domus looked as thin and worn as he felt [unflattering and weak] [disgusting]. Below him, robust trawlers [salt-rusted] [bowels heavy with barnacles] dotted the small harbour, lit as it was by a [brilliant] burnt orange sunset that could almost be tasted. Surely, the port-town [Cymba] at sunset was picturesque of idle prosperity, but Javik had barely the heart [sick] to glance that way.

“Hurry up, four-eyes,” called Rahj [human] [foolish], unnecessarily cheerful despite a long day [amidst a longer year] trawling fish in that thick, salt ocean [all he could taste in the air was salt] [it drowned out the rest].

Javik did not want to hurry up. He wanted the oblivious sleep of the bone-tired, and for it to last the entire night [was sick of sweat and terror] [the jolt of waking] [wanted to forget]. Yet their captain and employer [turian] [lean] [far too personable] had invited his fishing crew to welcome home his wife, and even as Javik had thought to reject the invitation [it would be too much], some old remembered admonishment had him accept.

So, he trundled up behind the [obnoxious] human to the sturdy [age-worn] house on the hill. Shoulders hunched, Javik nodded curtly to the captain [Natan], who gleefully greeted them at the open door.

“You rascals,” griped the turian, but there was no mistaking the light in his grey eyes [gushing with joy and pride] [felt like rain]. “Late as ever. C’mon, Tutela and the chick-a-dee are waiting.”

“Blame Javik. Practically had to carry him myself,” Rahj laughed, clasping Natan’s hand into a vigorous shake [Javik winced at the intensity] and shrugged his excuses. “We’re the last?” 

“Of course!”

Javik could see the sharp teeth of Natan’s smile and pleased trill [almost infectious], and allowed himself to be bundled into the atrium of the house [had not the energy to protest]. Warm light lined the rough plaster walls and warm chatter wafted out of the room before him [rolling like waves of orange and yellow]. The tight pain [stubbornly] lodged behind his eyes flared [had been there since day-break]. The [boisterous] human and the [happy] turian talked loudly over him [they were used to his silences], making the introductions to the rest of the gathering.

Of all those he’d encountered in this cycle, Javik found the [coarse] [wind-worn] fishing-folk of Cymba remarkably bearable [for primitives] [mostly turian]. They were unfailingly honest [a virtue], incessantly kind [baffling] and rather uninterested in whatever sorry demons he was running from [a relief]. Natan had taken pity when Javik had wondered into the local dram-house and enquired for work [a debt] [a kindness] [he’d never failed at something so thoroughly on the first go]. 

And there was quiet solace at the routine [a predictability], rising in the dark of morning to set to sea. Javik had not felt each tendon and muscle in his body so particularly since his days as a youngling. It was good to work with his hands so [no matter that the salt tasted so stark against his skin]. On the ocean there was only the waves and the sky [did not need to startle at shadows] [watch blood sink into the damp earth].

“Here they are, and not at the dram-bar, so that’s a hundred more credits to my name.”

There were only a few faces he did not know. Kin of Natan and his mate, from the colony markings. They eyed him warily [avian in the sharp hooks of their curiosity] and hung back. Not that it mattered [primitives ignored or pestered him] [he cared for neither]. Javik did not need them to care; disregard was plenty [he was tired of fighting] [should not be] [be a soldier, boy].

A toast was made by an old turian [brittle boned and happy], followed by a cheer and laden plates of seafood [tempting as it looked] [raw and wriggling] [stewed in spices]. No, it was enough remain on the sidelines [easier]. The gentle buffet of good-will that pervaded the room lapped at his queasy skin. It was not relaxing, but endurable [and hopeful] [he liked the feel of that].

“Did you want to hold him?” A sweet voice, flanged by notes of [full] content, invaded the prothean’s haze.

All four of his eyes blinked slowly as the pale face of Tutela [female] [turian] [Natan’s mate] came into focus. He barely comprehended her meaning, so lost was he in the moment [but he must be on guard] [could not relax]. [But]. Tutela lowered her mandibles in a soft gesture of generosity, as she raised the small bundle [cradled] in her arms.

A soft gurgle came from her cargo, and Javik leant forward in his seat [intrigued] at the [impossibly] tiny hand that peeked up above the swaddling.

“I…” Words were lost to him. There was a babe in her arms [all abuzz with new life] and Tutela was smiling at him like she had found a secret.

“Here,” she [the turian] said, promptly grasped one of his arms, and slid her [impossibly] small newborn into his tentative grip [what]. “Support the head, but be gentle with the fringe. He’s still all soft.”

[WHAT].

The sudden weight in his arms anchored him solidly still to the moment [chains locked around his joints] [linked to the small creature] and Javik could not move. Could not breathe, except already his wrought arms had curled around the tiny turian, held against his chest like a priceless treasure [so warm] [so light]. 

Tutela chuckled her amusement [low and indulgent] and leant back. Javik almost lurched forward [afraid] [so afraid] [why give him the child] [he could harm it], but duty was now tied into his bones [into the small breath that huffed against his collarbone].

“Relax,” the turian female soothed. “You’re doing fine.”

He blinked [dumbly] at her, struck by the act of trust Tutela has bestowed upon him [made his shoulders tremble]. Her own young, offered for him [a surly stranger] [a soldier] [a failure] to hold [protect]. Small shy eyes blinked up at him, and the babe shifted with the discontent of younglings.

There was [no fear] [no anger] [no wretchedness] [no torment] nothing dark in this little soul. Just a muffled sense of sleepy awareness and it stole Javik’s breath away. Something so small and delicate, and he lay in the prothean’s arms without protest [as if his hands were not sculpted to do battle] [had not the blood of civilisations etched into his skin].

[He was humming] [unconsciously, unwittingly] [projecting a lullaby through his skin].

Tiny fingers reached for the air again, and Javik erased his grip so as to answer the little wave with one [trembling] finger of his own. Odd little thing, chirping happily with eyes so wide and plates like velvet. If he lowered his lids, head tilted, Javik could [almost] pretend that the babe had an extra set of eyes.

[pathetic] [and yet].

A cold spear of revelation lanced through him [pierced his hearts] [jaw slack]. It had not even been intentional, to search for a comparison. Already sorrow scattered over his skin [deepened the thrum of his projections].

Tutela noted his distress [a female’s instinct?]. He knew he should return the child. Say nothing [of his woe] and leave, but he recognised the kindness on the turian’s face [from Shepard] and he was frightened [no, horrified].

“What is it?” Tutela asked, hand hovering over his shoulder [knew enough not to touch him uninvited].

Something [not emotion] [no] burned under his eyes, and Javik opened his mouth to brush over her [unwarranted] [foolish] concern. The words choked [like a plume of ash] and his voice was strained like a cut string.

“I-“ Javik seethed [grieved]. She looked at him far too kindly [he did not want it] [he was a soldier]. With shaking arms the prothean returned the now fussing babe to Tutela, who offered the youngling a talon to gnaw on even as her mandibles flared in concern [but not fear] for him [these folk were too good for him]. 

“My thanks,” Javik managed to whisper. He tried to scowl, but looked only pained [was in pain]. “Forgive me.”

A kindness on the galaxy’s behalf allowed him to stumble out and away from the gathering without incident [out and alone] [his throat was raw from unshed screams]. Javik tottered out of the domus, pierced by the night’s sharp chill and his own [immense] [weak] sorrow.

He did not weep [wanted to], as he looked at the three crescent moons that danced in the sky.

“I cannot remember what the young of my own kind looks like,” Javik told the black ocean and the startled stars [screamed it]. His hands ached [shook] [exuded his grief], for he was the last of his people. 

[could not be more than that].

The [only] [last] prothean bit his tongue to blood; utterly, forbiddingly and terrifyingly alone.

.

.

**34.**

“You’re deliberately provoking them, Liara!”

The asari adept closed her eyes and massaged her temples. Before her, the projection of Shepard scowled, remaining eye lit by some kind of internal fire. 

“I’m attempting to revolutionise the entire way the asari govern and view themselves by provoking debate about our failings,” Liara repeated evenly, not quite willing to meet Shepard’s glare. “They are trying to discredit my name so as to distract from the Inquest. So I’m returning the favour.”

Someone had be to the public face of the Siari Scandle. For all the clumsiness of the moniker the media had dubbed the entire mess, it had captured the attention of the galaxy in a way no story had since Soverign’s attack on the Citadel. Never mind that discrediting the teachings of Athame was but a minute part of the investigation Ousia had run so thoroughly.

“The way you’re going, you’re just as likely to be a martyr.”

Her eyes fluttered open to meet Shepard’s pixilated stare.

“You know I’m quite able to take care of myself,” Liara answered, more than a little reproach in her tone. She fought the urge to fidget under Shepard’s regard. 

“Doesn’t mean you should throw yourself into the firing line, Liara.” 

“And where should I be, Shepard?” she snarled, knuckles pale where they gripped the table. “Lying in the sun somewhere in Illium while my partner’s murderers walk free? And she was certainly not the first to be killed to keep the truth hidden.”

It hurt, it hurt her so much to argue with Shepard like this. Hurt even more to know her mother had been a part of lie a millennia in the making. Her mother had always said the Goddess spoke in riddles and moved in mystery. Had it all been a long, very ancient con then? That the oldest and wisest of her people had hidden such knowledge until the final hour, until it was almost too late was such a bitter pill to swallow. 

If the asari had shared all of their knowledge, if they’d been able to study the beacon, the old Council might have had the proof they so desperately wanted to ignore. 

Thessia might have been saved. Her mother might have been saved.

“Not accusing a thousand year old Matriarch of hiring Eclipse mercs to murder her rivals!” 

Liara sucked at her teeth at Shepard’s grim expression; this was not a new argument between the two of them. Which was surprising, considering Shepard’s own tendency to play fast and hard in diplomacy with those who messed her around. 

She expected it was because Shepard was no longer in the firing line.

“Matriarch Tolmima was entirely too quick and comfortable placing all blame for Ousia’s assassination onto Eclipse’s shoulders,” she countered, voice taught like a piano string. 

“She and other Honoured Atamna Matriarchs claim not to even know about Vendetta, when the recovered data clearly show them consulting the beacon!”

Shepard’s projection moved closer, showing the mark that split her eyebrow in two, the scar tissue at her temple. It was hard not to look at her and bow to the marks of suffering, experience writ on her umber skin.

Liara knew that Shepard feared the brittle edges that had grown over her indigo heart, felt responsible for breaking it so that they became jagged. Losing Shepard over Alchera had been a catalyst; no longer could Liara hide in quiet ruins of a lost peoples from the traumas of the galaxy. Not when she could change them. 

“Then use that and stop haring around like a reckless revolutionary, and start acting like an information broker!”

“I can’t out-think them, Shepard,” Liara snapped, all at once tired of the roundabout argument, and more determined than ever to prove herself right. Vendetta’s information was a tangle of translation still, and nothing that would hold up in court. “They are too old and too wily. All I can do is out manoeuvre them until somebody slips up.”

“Don’t let it be you,” the Commander said heavily, mouth a grim line.

“I won’t.”

“I’m serious, Liara,” implored Shepard, voice turning soft and sad so that it hurt to hear. “Come visit us. You haven’t even met Iura.”

Real regret rang through the asari’s chest; Shepard’s focus was on rebuilding homes and rehabilitating people, not tearing down the past. Building a family with Garrus; how strange and far away the holo-vids of Shepard arm in arm with her surly adopted turian daughter seemed to be.

“It’s too dangerous,” Liara said, a well of sorrow sinking down her throat. “You don’t need me putting everything you’ve worked for at risk.”

“That’s a crock of bullshit, and you know it.”

She didn’t deign to answer. Didn’t trust herself to.

A sound crossed between a sigh and a hiss whistled through Shepard’s teeth, causing Liara’s teeth to clench. She’d heard that noise before, mostly after Shepard came from consulting the old Council.

“At least check of Javik for me,” she said at last, voice tight and tired. “His last message was odd and he’s not replied since.”

It was not an end to their argument, Liara knew, but some things could not be finished in a day. And in truth, she had not heard from Javik in a while, though she’d put it down to his usual reticence.

“Very well,” Liara replied, mouth a tight line and reserved.

.

.

**35.**

The wind howled loud and lonely from the rocky outcrop he stood upon [the largest of five for all he could see]. Dusty orange sand crumbled under his cracked and blistered feet as the shrub-land stretched [endlessly] out to the horizon. The view was broken only by the glassy salt lakes that dotted the land.

It was a desolate place. Drier than he [Javik] remembered, but then his [faded] memories of this planet were awash with blood and [bitter] duty. 

The pistol under his chin creaked as Javik’s grip [slick with sweat] tightened. Above, a merciless sun seared his [splintered] carapace and burnt his nasal ridge; too hot for so early in the morning. His badly healed ribs ached where they lay twisted under his skin.

Perhaps today he would end his own miserable existence. A bullet to the brain would be neater than dying by inches of thirst in this wasteland [a mercy].

Circumstance and chance had a [cruel and pitiless] sense of humour to have brought Javik to this ledge [this brink]. He had come to the Peltro Ria to find the unmarked graves of his crew [to escape the loss that hounded his hearts [or to find it]. Solace he [pathetically] sought, quiet he needed and death, death taunted him [with its promises of sweet relief]. Living was a trial when the future was a bright beacon of hope he could only [long for] watch as others followed its light. Babes born to this cycle were born without the shadow of war [without the shadow of the Reapers]. What place did the last of the protheans have in this victory?

And so Javik had sought to find something hidden in the murky tragedy of his past [the Echo Shard hummed against his chest] [to know] [to not know] [both were a burden]. Perhaps what he searched for was the conviction to die, or to live.

There had been nothing to find, however. The land had changed too much and too vastly since he’d buried his comrades, and the local [simple-minded] colonists were indifferent to the stranger that walked past them with hollow eyes [he should be hailed as a god] [the last star-shine of the Prothean Empire].

Javik might yet have been searching, but for the [supposed] bandits [asari and salarian] that had left him for dead. Makeshift camp a burnt ruin and [second-hand] vehicle stolen, he’d been left bleeding and alone in an unforgiving tundra [a death sentence] with a broken omni-tool and comm-system. Now his purpose had fallen to questioning each [forsaken] dawn as to the point behind his continued survival. What was now left to Javik bar this empty sky?

His bruised knuckles tightened [take the shot] [let it all be over] [let his old bones bleach in the wake of this pitiless sun] [and join the lonely ghosts of his people].

[You are a soldier].

Yet no matter how hard [and keenly] Javik pressed the barrel against the red lines of his [dry] throat, or how his trigger finger twitched and his shoulders shook [his duty was done, soldier] [the Reapers gone], he could not [take it] take the shot.

What was left? [Nothing]. He was the last of the protheans, the last [despairing] voice of his [dead] people. Nothing more, nothing less. Javik did not know [did not want to know] whether he wanted to die.

And so [his eyes fluttered closed]. 

And so [his taut arm relaxed].

[No].

Not today, then. 

The pistol felt heavy in his loose grip. It always did [did each life feel so heavy?]. Javik wondered [as he always did] if tomorrow, then, he would [finally] put himself out of his [shameful] misery. Or perhaps he would live, day by day, bound by his indecision [for death] [for life], until this remote planet consumed him.

[Disgusting].

It mattered not [for this day at least]. Javik holstered the pistol, and rolled his stiff shoulders [armour scratched and sun-worn]. He had to check the make shift water-catchers [ever dry], light the signal fires and see if his traps had caught a meagre fare for breakfast.

Survival could be its own purpose [for a day] [at least].

As [at last] he turned from the silent salt lakes, Javik’s periphery eyes caught a black smear against the landscape. A chill stole through his gut [more bandits to finish the job?]. He’d been out here so long the thought of rescue seemed absurd.

Slowly, Javik eased himself to the ground [today he’d chosen to live] [that choice would not be taken by another]. Hands shaking, the prothean unhooked his rifle; the distance was far too great for a shot, but the scope would let him know this newcomer [and a better way to end them] [if necessary].

It was a beaten Hammerhead [salarian mining make], paint thin, with scorch marks running up its side. No obvious gang colours or signifiers. The heavy vehicle skirted along the salt lakes shore, unhurried and unafraid.

Had the driver become lost? Javik adjusted the scope so as to decipher more details.

Closer came the vehicle. He lost sight of it for a while as it clambered up a sizable sand-dune [bit down on the panic and uncertainty]. Though his elbows were raw and his throat parched, Javik could not leave his post [would not] [some part of his fate was approaching]

Something bubbled in his heart to see the Hammerhead crest the dune line [could not name it] [would not]. The vehicle paused [unsurprising] [if they were lost it was ideal to survey the lay of the land]. Javik mumbled old curses under his breath to see a door open and a lithe figure [human or asari] clamber out. He twitched, and further tweaked the rifle-scope’s focus.

The image blurred and cleared, numbering the distance between him and the first being he’d seen in over three months.

In battered blue armour, the distant figure hoisted themselves atop the vehicle [presumably for the view]. He saw the arched head crest [cerulean blue] [asari] and something warm and wonderful lit his blood [don’t be ridiculous] even as he sought out her [elusive] face.

[ridiculous] [could not see her face] [it could not be] [don’t].

She herself bore binoculars, rotated slowly to survey the land [her face]. He trembled as the asari finally lowered her hand, and [like the sun breaking through cloud cover] turned to contemplate the outcrop he’d made his home.

It was her.

[It couldn’t be].

[It was].

He’d recognise those freckles anywhere.

 

.

.

**36.**

She became aware of the prothean at her back half-way through her morning chahhu; one foot lunged forward in a deep stance, elbow skyward to shield her face with the other stretched forward with sharp fingers. Sweat beaded along Liara’s pebbled skin, no matter that she only wore leggings and a short workout top. Already the air was heavy with heat.

Dropping her front hand to trace the earth, Liara swept her other arm out sharply as her low, wide steps pushed forward through an imaginary barrier. Ice-blue biotics ran over her arms and off her knuckles to form a fleeting sphere. 

That Javik studied her was no surprise; he watched her every morning after he slunk back from whatever private ritual he had to greet the day. In the past, he’d have criticised her routine. Now, she’d be lucky to hear a word from the prothean before midday.

Guiding her biotics up and over as she swept one foot around and pivoted on the other, Liara crooked her fingers into the talon salute and pushed her power out. Kept an even breath; one, two, three. That Aethyta had insisted on instruction from her best commandos to improve upon Liara’s biotic combat stances was not something she resented.

Three weeks she had camped alongside a worn and weary Javik, tended to his wounds and bullied him into eating the ration packs she’d brought along. He was not well; his turquoise skin had yellowed thin and each cautious action was broken by nervous reaction. Each day the hot wind wore them down as Liara mapped the landscape and Javik stalked his territory like a starving varren, without letting her leave his sight.

She’d yet to prize what bothered the prothean from his thin, bloodless lips, but she worried. All four of Javik’s eyes looked empty like a dead shell.

Breathing deep through her nose, Liara lowered her chin and drew in her biotic bright arms into a caged guard. Her thighs stretched and strained as she lowered her stance further and shifted her weight to the back foot.

Never mind her commando squad, sifting through the shit of the closest trade town for leads connecting Eclipse to a certain Matriarch. More than one uneasy thread had bought Liara to this backwater planet. That Javik’s last correspondence had come from such a place had struck fear into her belly and fire in her blood, and thank the Goddess for Shepard’s prompting.

Pulsing on the spot, Liara raised both arms to praise Athame and let the biotics flare once, twice, thrice before sinking back over her arms and into her skin.

Building a circle with her hands, body as the diameter, Liara straightened and completed the chahhu with Athame’s final salute.

Breathing deeply, she steeled herself for Javik’s golden gaze and tried not to stare the puckered scar that ran dangerously down one cheek. He’d not told her what had happened to leave him stranded in such a state, but Liara had a working theory. 

“You should join me some time,” Liara called to the prothean. She’d long since lost the self-consciousness bought by his regard of her under-dressed state. “You always said you’d show me how it should be done.”

That made him turn away, and her chest constricted to see him so cautious. She rubbed the perspiration off her brow with a forearm, watching as the prothean stared uneasily off into the distance.

“Asari,” said Javik at last, approaching as she towelled herself clean from dust and dirt. “I place this under your care.”

The snappy retort died on her tongue when she turned to see the green light of the Echo Shard spilling out of his hands.

“What?” Liara froze as Javik rigidly stepped closer. The purple bruises under his eyes made them over bright and feverish. She flinched away. “No!”

“I insist,” he barked, though patience and frustration wore his voice thin. “You mentioned last night that you must return to your command-” 

“Javik, I’m not leaving unless you come with me.” Some slow dismay crept through her veins as she stared at him, baffled and anxious. 

“Don’t be absurd,” Javik said sharply, and stepped forward again to give her the Shard.

Her fingers twitched as Liara jolted away; the Echo Shard was his past, in all its painful tragedy. The wealth of knowledge it could offer was not hers for the taking. How could he think that she would?

“Why are you offering me this?” Liara all but choked, scalp flaring with feeling. There was a desperate fervor to Javik’s gaze that would not relent or release her. The hum that surrounded him was discordant, pressing against her senses like rust and rowan. 

“Why won’t you take it?” Javik snapped back at her, teeth gnashing as he loomed like a shadow. “Maybe, then, you will leave me in peace!”

The air in her lungs grew thin and Liara could not batter away the absurdities that Javik pressed against her. Not with her words, or his. Behind her ribs, her heart hammered; it did not add up. He wanted her gone, yet hated her to be out of sight. Javik was not well; this she knew. What did the prothean fear to chase her away with farewell gifts and scorn? 

Trying to quieten her frantic breath, Liara battled her body into calm. Javik had not moved away, still held out the Shard like charm and she did not want it. Not like this.

“Javik,” she whispered, and it hurt so much to see the broken, bitter satisfaction in his eyes. It would not do.

Her hand quivered as Liara reached for him, and the line of his shoulders trembled. A look of doom hung of Javik as her fingers hovered over the precious relic in his hands.

“Take it,” he insisted.

“You pyjack,” she answered, and grabbed his hand instead.

[WHAT/ASARI/NO]

[BLUE SKY/BULLETS/BLOOD] [FIRE IN THE ENGINES/DEAD BODIES IN THE SAND]

[DON’T LOOK/SHUT UP/HELP]

[A CHILD/A SOLDIER/A FUTURE NOT MEANT FOR HIM] [NO]

[COLD PRESSURE UNDER HIS CHIN/A PROMISE/A GHOST/A GRAVE]

[NO]

And Liara was thrown across the dirt.

“You!” She gasped, beaten and buffeted by prothean biotics and prothean despair.

“Shut up,” hissed Javik as he staggered back, before cursing her in his own tongue. Already he was in frantic retreat, the stink of terror surrounded him; she had felt and tasted it. 

Back bruised and elbow cracked, Liara scrambled to her feet even as Javik stumbled away. Bone dry horror sucked her mouth dry as her knees bent and she flung an angry stasis toward his fleeing back. It caught him squarely in the middle; the prothean too distraught, too afraid for his deflection to do any good. A chilling testament to how weak he’d grown, but not enough to halt her.

Rage had now bubbled up from Liara’s belly to claw at her eyes and heart and hands. How dare he? Blue sky, bullets, blood, and there was no mystery now to where he hid each morning. Where he tried to die. 

Javik struggled against her stasis, wide eyes darting at her furious approach.

“What were you thinking?” Liara snarled, reaching through her biotics to grasp his collar. Heat burned behind her eyes as Javik broke through her distress to slap her hands away. 

“Go away, asari,” he spat, teeth clacking in terror and fury. “Do not touch me!”

She socked him squarely in the jaw, her knuckles burst with pain as he tumbled to the red dust.

“How dare you?” the asari seethed. “How dare you!”

“It is not your-“ Javik propped himself up on one elbow and thrust a three fingered curl of biotic green straight to her face.

It was weak, though, stuttering and sparking like a dying star between her burning blue. 

“Would you have had me find you, dead by your own hand?” Liara all but bellowed, shoving his shoulders into dirt as she bore down against him. “Did you even consider how I would feel?”

“You-“

“Or did you think I would take the Shard and just leave?” She shook him, hard, and he grappled at her wrists and kneed her shins. “Is that the sort of person you believe me to be?”

“Fuck you!” Javik spat back, long face twisted by feeling.

“No,” Liara shouted. “Fuck you!” 

And her anger broke as her knees hit the ground beside him to let sorrow flood her every shuddering cell.

“You selfish bastard,” she sobbed, fists and forehead against his dented cuirass and chest carved hollow and heaving.

“Yes,” he agreed simply, and Liara almost hated him for that. Hated how Javik’s grip had not left her wrists and the air whistled through his tired lungs. Her skin felt tight and ready to tear and Liara refused, refused, to accept his defeat.

“You coward,” accused the asari, and she could feel the way he sunk his body into the sturdy earth, how ready he was to fade away.

“Let me be, asari,” the prothean sighed at last, almost gently. “It is my wish.”

“Bullshit,” Liara spat, at once lifting her head to glare straight at his stupid, gaunt face. “Bullshit. If that were true, you would be dead. You would not have lit the fires, or flagged me down.”

Liar, LIAR. He was afraid and in agony, alone, but Liara had bull-rushed herself into his mind-scape, and through the ink blank well of despair she had not seen a soldier ready to die, only a survivor too weary to live. Her face was creased and wet from her emotion and so close to his weeping eyes, and if he read her, it was her utter refusal of his demise that swamped his senses. 

A strange, keening wail cut across the tense quiet of their moment, and Liara blinked to learn it came from the red bob of Javik’s throat.

“Don’t,” he pleaded.

“Shut up,” the asari fired back, already determinedly pulling herself up to sit on her heels. Javik’s bony hands followed her own so closely; unwillingly from his expression, and she knew she was right. 

Grabbing his cuirass, Liara yanked the prothean up too, ignoring the lance of pain in her elbow that brought them face to face. He was a soldier, and they were uneasy comrades, and he had sought to make her stronger so as to survive a war, so now she would lend him hers.

“I will not fight this battle for you,” she started with, scalp crest alive and wired and skin alight. There air about them hummed and sparked with his dull surprise. “I won’t win this battle for you, but I will be at your back at each and every step.”

Javik hissed sharply, even as she felt that one last flicker of hope unfurl under his skin. They burned where they connected; her fingers cradling his jaw and his palms across her biceps. He knew her truth, her faith. Saw it in the depths of her dark blue eyes.

“Do not,” he tried, one last time, but he clung to her like she was the sun and he, the falling moon. “Leave.”

“No,” Liara insisted fiercely, wiping the shallow tears from his haggard face. “I will not leave you alone, Javik. Not ever. Not again.”

The break in him cracked through both their spines, ribs and hearts, as Javik sunk his face into her shoulder. She was weeping again, likely wouldn’t stop for a long time, but there was none to witness them but the empty sky. Liara snaked her arms around Javik’s heaving shoulders. Felt the hot brush of his breath against her as the ridge of his carapace cut into her skin. Felt the clash of their emotions through their skin.

“We will see this future together,” she swore, her fingers digging into his armour for purchase to hold him close. To make him believe. Above them the sun burned. 

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays everyone!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this mess of emotions and plot and new characters. This was a really fun chapter to write, in terms of exploring the post-war universe through Javik and Liara's eyes and trying to finally put down the last few scenes which I had planned months ago.
> 
> Hopefully I've dealt with both Javik and Liara's struggles with depression and ptsd in a respectful, realistic way. Please let me know if you have suggestions. I also want to point out that Liara is not setting herself up to being Javik's saviour; she aims to support and help, but knows that ultimately, he has to be the one to decide to get better. Mental illness is always tricky, and I hope I've not romanticised or trivialised how hard it can be to suffer from and watch those you care suffer from it.
> 
>  
> 
> Glossary
> 
> Atamna: Matriarch high priestesses of Athame; of which Benezia was.  
> Chahhu: Asari biotic dance routine.  
> Kamada: Prothean word for the imperial court.  
> Marbar Ya: Prothean word for the carers of young.  
> Shihiid: Martyr  
> Soaxiib: Prothean word for comrade, typically referring to experienced, familiar military teams.


	7. Chapter 7

.

.

**37.**

“Stop fidgeting,” the [matron] [Vaalsa] asari chided as she reopened the wound in his cheek so as to clean and seal it properly. That disgusting ooze [medi-gel] still made him shiver.

Javik would have fought her [prying, calloused fingers] [with little care]. Should have, but still his limbs felt like lead weights that drew him ever to ground. The week long drive back to [supposed] civilisation with nought but the asari [Liara] for [stiff, silent] [yet so much sentiment] company had left him better fed but not better rested. Too many ghosts [his own included] haunted him.

Javik believed the asari’s oath to stand by his side against the darkness latent in himself [believed she believed it], but the Cosmic Imperative had never been kind. The last of the protheans did not trust the universe to not try to rip her [Liara] away, [especially] now that he had been found.

[It so loved to wound him].

So, he waited in a deliberately shabby shuttle with two [weathered] asari commandos, while Liara and her fire-team ran some such errand [she had said] [he had tried to listen]. Javik would have [wanted to] gone with her, had the asari [impatient and unyielding] not pushed him into the shuttle, ordered Vaalsa to tend to him and then hurried away [he’d wanted to call out] [too late, too late]. The matron medic had her own particular means of gaining compliance, so [pitifully] he said little and endured her ministrations. 

A sting seared across his face, and it took everything for Javik not to flinch [weak] [so weak he had become]. Vaalsa clucked her tongue regardless, brusquely gripping his chin while she reapplied fresh medi-gel [cold and slick and unpleasant]. Javik allowed it [could not avoid it] [was too tired to object]. He only wanted to be rid of the [wretched] planet once known as Peltro Ria.

Their pilot called through from the cockpit.

“Little Mother just made contact,” the asari’s voice was straight, but turned by worry. “We’re to be ready to fly as soon as they board. ETA five minutes, one wounded.”

A burst of feeling [panic] flared through his chest [dismantling his elation].

“Who is wounded?” Javik demanded [no, he begged] [not so soon] [nonono], already upright as the medic scolded. “They were meant to pick up cargo.”

“Yeah, well,” the pilot did not glance back at him [distracted with duty and worry], already boosting the thrusters. “Looks like they made some friends along the way.”

He heard their approach before the others [a confused gait] [gritted teeth] even as the stink of adrenaline and metallic wash of blood [all asari] flooded the air. That no gunfire accompanied them was of little relief.

Javik hastily retreated into the back of the shuttle as Liara [alive] [whole] [thank you] and her lieutenant bundled the third commando [gunshot thigh wound] inside before clambering in.

“Dankana, get us out of here!” she [Liara] barked [keen like a hunting knife], flaring anger and impatience as the shuttle roared to life [a smear of blue blood across her cheek] [his hands ached from worried fists].

“Yes, ma’am!”

Vaalsa was already bent over the wounded as Liara stood back and looked on grimly [mouth set, jaw clenched]. Javik tried to catch her eye so as to know her mind, but Liara’s focus had cut her attention with battle blinkers.

[he wanted to scream]. 

“What happened?” He demanded instead.

“Nothing that concerns you,” Liara replied crisply, rigid where she gripped the ceiling hand-rail. A hollow blow hit his solar plexus [her disregard hurt him]. He wanted to snarl [to shake the truth from her lungs], but the shuttle lurched as it pitched into flight and it was all he could do to hold himself together [powerless and pathetic].

“Ma’am, we’ve got an incoming transmission,” came the pilot, and Javik bit down his curses.

“From who?” asked the asari lieutenant [Aanja].

“Not sure, but it’s local.”

Before he [Javik] had time to blink [too slow, too slow], Liara had grasped the back collar of his armour and [violently] [grip like steel] shoved Javik face first into the floor. His [indignant] joints popped when he struggled to rise against her [how the long months in the desert had weakened him]. 

“Stay low,” she hissed, hand [humiliatingly] shoving down on his carapace as he snapped his teeth back at her. Liara paid no mind, already facing the pilot. “Patch it through.”

The projection revealed a long faced asari with jagged lines upon her forehead and hard, narrow eyes. Javik could not move [disgraceful], with little room on the floor to hold his bulk [Vaalsa’s knees dug into his back] [Liara’s shin in his face]. Yet, Javik was not so insentient so as to miss the way the muscles in Liara’s leg clenched, or the flush spikes of fear and anger that pierced her skin.

“Well, well, Liara T’Soni, it is you,” spoke the stranger, voice surprisingly soft [soothing but for the poison laced within]. “I’m sorry to have missed your visit.”

“Believe me,” Liara said through gritted teeth. “The regret is all mine, Sederis.”

“Ah, of course. I shall have to think of a suitable reciprocal gift to annihilating my local Eclipse cell.”

His hearts beat wildly; those were words of subterfuge and danger and they wrapped around Liara like a noose. Liara had lied to him [how dare she], had gone into battle without him [how DARE she] and Javik pressed his long face against her calf so as not roar. If she met with such foes, what else did she hide from him? 

“You brought that on yourself,” Liara replied, voice steady for all the turmoil he felt bubbling within. 

“Careful, dear.” The asari projection flashed a smile, but it was anything but polite. “How many more of your dear companions are you willing to throw into the line of fire? Perhaps I should call on the great Shepard next?”

“You dare-?”

Liara’s hand on his scalp was fierce in her grip [he could feel her fingers]. Protective fury surged from her chest [a righteous anger], and Javik snaked a hand around her calf to calm her [to hold her back] [to weather her emotions], for he began to see the order of things [the source of her bitter strength].

[she had thought him dead] [had come to honour him] [had left to avenge him].

If he were stronger, Javik would project the calm and forethought needed for such a foe [alas] [he was not near strong]. As it was, he could only cling to her and ride the storm.

“I do,” the stranger sighed. “And, unless you want her to go the same way as your pet prothean, you stop this witch-hunt for your betters.”

“Is the Honoured Tolmima beginning to doubt her infallibility?” Liara bit out. His anger, hers, bled together to become a wall.

“Oh, for the arrogance of maidens,” laughed the asari matron [not pleasantly] [he wanted to stab something]. “I’ll be seeing you, T’Soni. Down the barrel of gun, I hope.”

The projection faded as the connection abruptly ended, leaving the small shuttle strung with a tension. Only the pained groans [black and blue and yellow bouncing off one another] of the wounded commando punctured the silence.

[his anger returned].

Javik shook off Liara’s death grip, clambering to his [unsteady] feet as he fought with the loud emotion that ran rampart through his veins. Liara [thoughts thin and brittle] would [still] not meet his eye, for all that she did not concede any ground.

“You went into battle without me,” he finally managed to say, and it was not a question but an accusation.

“It was something I had to deal with,” she snapped up at him [freckles dark across her nose]. “My actions are not subject to your approval, Javik.”

“But they do concern me,” Javik countered, stepping closer to make her see [his beating hearts, his ragged breath]. “They were my foes.”

He saw as the snarl curled her expression crooked [caught something fearful in that rage of hers] [rejoiced at her fire]. Javik’s own anger boiled [at being used] [at being protected]. He’d been hunted like an animal in some larger game [against her] he had not even been aware of [bile choked his throat].

For so long, Javik had suffocated under an ocean of despair. How had so much [emotion] broken through the veil to make him feel so [cracked and jagged and alive] now?Perhaps he was meant to only live on conflict.

“No,” Liara seethed, jabbing at his chest with a sharp finger. “This was my business. My enemies.”

“That involved me! They came to kill me!”

She sat down heavily, eyes averted [why?] and a terrible weight bowed her shoulders. All that fire snuffed out; it stole his breath [but no, it should not]. His tension screamed to fight, to strike, to ward off whatever the softness that had crept over her features was. He opened his mouth to retort, but found nothing in the face of her sudden stare [so blue] [so cold and stern].

“They came to kill you, Javik. Because of me,” Liara’s voice quavered, and he hated that sentiment [on his behalf] had doused her spirit so. Hated even more the resolve glinting through her whispered words like diamond. “I won’t allow that. Not while I live.”

Javik could not fight against her sorrow; he, who only knew vengeance had no balm against her worries. Whatever Liara had been [to him] in the desert, he saw, was one small part of her current whole. 

“Ease up, you two,” the medic [matron] [Vaalsa] grunted, as her patient squirmed against her ministrations. “This is going to be a bumpy ride as is.”

Both [Javik] [Liara] looked away, uncomfortable at remembering their audience.

“Of course,” murmured Liara, arms crossed and [already] [from him] closed off. Javik hissed lightly [a warning] [this was not yet done], and turned away again.

He would not be left behind again.

.

.

 **38.**

She did not know how to help Javik.

Deep in space, in the salvaged frigate from the salarian Third Fleet dubbed Óres that was her base of operations, Liara T’Soni bit her lips at the pale glow of her omni-tool. Hovering outside the cupboard they’d converted into a private room for the source of her worries, she took a moment to calm her mind. To again push the slow unease of her onus.

Hers was a stealthy, sly ship that had served her and the asari commandos under her charge well in playing maw and meat with larger, heavier armed forces. For trying to balance a theoretical revolution and a companion’s well-being, it was less suited.

Shepard would have known how. Would have done it in a matter of sentences.

It was easier, perhaps, when they were planet-side. Then there was the mission, a priority and a goal to work towards. Whether it was to speak at auditoriums crammed full of the young and the angry, making deals on ‘behalf’ of the Shadow Broker or setting up deep space comm-buoys (often with hidden siphoning software), Javik was at her back like a wordless shadow.

No meekness marred his interactions, just a dreadful emptiness that poured out of his dull stare. Occasionally Javik would muster a sneer at something deemed particularly primitive, but all his effort seemed reserved for combat.

“He has PTSD,” Vaalsa had told her, matter of fact like and unapologetic. “Of some kind. Probably been stewing in it for the past epoch.”

“I thought,” Liara had stammered, “I mean, I suspected, but…“

“It’s possible that it manifested differently in his kind. Or that he was conditioned to fight through it,” continued the medic. “Can’t get much more from him, though.”

Most attempts to talk resulted in terse dialogue at best and grunts at worst. Liara had tried to instigate interest number of topics, from religion to politics to science, but his disdain was reflexive and uninvested. Of war and archaeology, she steered clear of. The only thing that he participated in was her daily Chahhu, and that was to just blandly criticize her form. 

Sighing heavily, Liara stared at the schematics that twirled orange on her forearm.

“Javik?” She called softly. If he were actually sleeping for once, she did not wish to disturb him.

“Is there a reason you’re loitering outside my quarters?”

She yelped as he appeared, like a wraith, at her shoulder. Clad in only his under-suit, Javik’s wide pupils and distinct sweat scent marked yet even more time spent on the ship’s limited combat-sim. Again.

Coughing to clear her suddenly inept tongue, Liara most definitely did not look at the alien contour of his shoulders; the pronounced collar bones or the marks in his suit that indicated plating. 

“D-don’t flatter yourself,” replied Liara, blushing blue from cheeks to crest. She brought up her omni-tool and waved at the diagram displayed there. “I have some schematics I want you to look over. It’s from an artefact once owned by Tonn Actus, until it fell into Alliance possession. It might be what we need to fix your armour.”

Yes, business was better; her days as a solitary researcher were long gone. 

That the prothean had stoically refused help in tending to his ancient technology had surprised no one; the commandos rolled their eyes at his pride. Only when the field-drive that powered his armour failed had Javik deigned to seek her help. Though for the most part it had been him looming at her elbow as Liara carefully scanned each piece. 

Like now, where his eyes tracked the design as if it were a puzzle he was loath to solve.

“It will do,” Javik said shortly, mouth twitching downwards with distaste before turning away.

“Javik-“ Liara began, set off by his curt dismissal, or the mask of it. But when he paused the words stuck dry to her throat. 

He was not well. Outside of missions, Javik tended to his weapons and armour, fought in the combat-sims, stared at his small, tattered book and avoided eating, sleeping and company. 

The frigate was not a large ship; such things were easily tracked. He did not even try to trick her with false facts about his people anymore.

“What?” The word was harsh and irate. 

Liara shut off her omni-tool and hugged her torso.

“I…Is everything alright?”

When she finally glanced up, it was to a fleeting, unguarded expression that revealed too much of what she had missed. Lips slightly parted, Liara caught the shortness of his breath and the taut line of his biceps. 

But then, there was always something else to steal her attention. Some other research that needed approval, or an agent to be directed or avoided.

 _Never enough time,_ she cursed herself. Brow furrowed, the asari straightened; so little effort had cracked the stoic wall Javik had erected. No wonder he was quietly deteriorating. 

Goddess damn her, for assuming he would soldier on so.

Of course, he had. That was what he had always done.

“I mean, I promised to…” It was amazing how quickly blank neutrality fell over his face. Liara twisted her fingers, spine straight as she tried to vocalise her clumsy thoughts. Tried to prolong the moment of fleeting honesty. “May I assist you further in any way?”

Her blunt nails dug into her palms; she’d promised to help Javik. How exactly, she hadn’t much considered, that day in the desert. A reason to live, a way to let go of the past? Both seemed to elude Liara.

“What more help do you think I require?” Javik said slowly, four point gaze accusing. “I have your borrowed purpose to fight for.”

Liara sucked air through her teeth.

“You-” A high-strung ache bloomed in her stomach, ill and slick with guilt and recrimination. “I didn’t do it so as to…to gain you like a war asset!”

“Then what was the point?” He quietly sneered.

It had been easier, she thought distantly, trapped on that small garden world in the aftermath of the Catalyst. The worst had been behind them. Liara had hoped, had known Shepard’s success. Had felt that their victory against the Reapers meant that a bright future would welcome them with open arms. 

In the present, Liara gaped at the traumatised prothean she had dragged out of a desert and across the universe. For what, to hear him say it was because she’d needed a good soldier? 

What did that say about the Prothean Empire, that Javik took her compassion that way? What said it about her, that her empathy should be ascribed so mercenary to his understanding? 

It was so laughable in its terrible tragedy.

But no mirth was coming. Unacceptable for him to think so, for her not to have noticed. Liara blinked back her culpability and tried to stay sure.

“The point is they’ve taken too much already! I won’t-” Teeth bare, she stepped forward and thrust out her chin in anger and defiance. Her blood felt thick to burst with feeling, saw it in how he leaned away as she continued. “The Reapers do not deserve another victim, Javik. Not one more. That includes you.”

All four of Javik’s eyes blinked slowly at her outburst. His raised hands twitched, head tilted on an angle as his surprise faded into perplexity. 

“The Reapers are gone,” Javik said dully, automatically. Like a cursed VI. “My death is irrelevant to them.”

How could he distance himself so?

“But it means something to me!”

“That is not my concern, asari,” he spat, but Javik’s voice hitched and the spite in it was weakened.

A small ball lodged in Liara’s throat; she hadn’t meant to be so fervent, so blunt.

She thought of the vision she’d received in the desert, of his despair clambering about his being as the universe looked on, unfeeling. The wide expanse of nothing that stretched to a hazy horizon that was longed for but never reached. 

Tali had Rannoch, her budding new dawn and geth to rebuild. Wrex with Eve and a host of little ones and infused with courage. Shepard had Garrus and her cast-away strays who needed firmness and compassion and faith and all the things that Shepard could provide. Even Ashley had charged into the future, driven and proud and pulling apart the post-war black-markets that riddled Earth.

Liara felt trapped. To the ghosts of Thessia, the spectre her mother had left behind. Her father’s fear, her people’s lies. To her rage. 

To her shortcomings. Of which there were many.

How could Liara possibly help Javik when she herself felt so fragmented? And here they were, fighting in a corridor because she knew of no other way to communicate with him. 

Taking a long, shuddering breath, Liara stepped back and away. Javik had not moved; the pressure of his presence pulled at her tense skin. His awkward silence revealed the prothean to be as lost as she with this conversation. Eyes squeezed shut, Liara hit a wall heavily and hung her head. 

What a mess.

“You are overwrought,” Javik said, careful and callous.

Liara scrubbed her face with her knuckles. Think. Find another way.

“50,000 years ago,” she began, before choking and clearing her throat. “If one of your comrades had been…as you were in the Attican Traverse, what would you have done?”

“Let them die.” Javik had not even paused to draw breath. 

The answer made her flinch, gaze fixed on the floor panelling. He must have seen, for she heard the prothean shift his weight uneasily.

“If a prothean was not strong enough to continue the fight, sorrow for the self-removal was unnecessary,” he elaborated after a moment, almost surprised at her shock. “If they did not pull the trigger, then they would be sent for reconditioning. A desire to fight on could be built upon.” 

It was chilling, how practical Javik made it sound. It made her shudder to think of life and death in such simple terms as will.

“And what about now?” Liara asked, husky voiced and uncertain. Still, she could not look; dreaded seeing the emptiness of his tone confirmed. To believe oneself a weapon, to be cast aside if broken, surely must be a sin. 

Had not Athame preached that all had a place, a purpose on sweet Thessia, no matter how unfathomable it appeared?

Yet, even now she could see how such an idea was born from the other.

“What about it?”

“Never mind,” Liara muttered, fingers pressed against her temple. “It was a thoughtless question.”

She could not help, it ran like a mantra from her youth. How could she help? Hazy hurt throbbed behind her eyes, crest tender. Liara waved a distracted hand and turned to leave. Surely, she would simply make things worse.

Yet, Javik moved as she made to flee. Just a step.

“Liara,” he said to her retreating back, and of course her feet faltered. “Do you still view your cause as a worthy one?”

A small huff escaped her mouth. As if he had to ask. Could he not read the answer on her skin? Liara nodded, lips tight shut lest her heart escape.

“Then I will not let you die before it is done.” 

And that made her hurt all the more.

.

.

**39**

“Ma’am, what are you trying to say?” The Lieutenant’s arms were folded and the lines on her face mirrored his own [unease].

Liara shook her head, already bringing up names and faces on some unfathomable chart on the projection before them. 

Her entire commando squad [twelve asari] [worn together and loyal] crowded around the small projection table. The second-hand frigate the asari had claimed for herself had none of the luxury of the Normandy [or the space]. As such, each wave of shock, doubt and disquiet that followed Liara’s [mad] proclamation rolled bright [and close] over his sense nodes. To his left, Vaalsa [brow furrowed] shifted, violet skin flushed dark with worry.

“Certain biases of the Shadow Broker have been noted,” she [Liara] said slowly [carefully] [like soothing a spooked moon-calf], bringing up seven familiar profiles with the flick of a finger. All Matriarchs whom Liara had [deliberately] managed to antagonise in some way or another in her vendetta [admirable] [risky]. “The Broker has to maintain some impartiality to galactic events if he is to retain his authority.”

When she glanced up, it was to match her worried gaze to his [apprehension pulled over her scalp], and he knew then her [ridiculous] [horrific] [cruel] intent.

Eyes snapped to [heated] slits, Javik curled his lip and stepped forward [wanted to fling the others aside]. Watched the asari [Liara] flinch with what she saw in him [served her right].

“You’ve made yourself bait.” Disgust [dread] dripped from his voice [down his spine].

Liara [foolish, idiotic asari] exhaled, leaning forward onto the table [stone around her neck].

“Details regarding my location were sold, yes,” she admitted. A collective sigh sucked the disquiet [of the brave and loyal] [and was he not one of them] to the floor. “We have a rough timetable of the location and routes that are of interest. Everything else is up to chance.”

Javik had enough ire in him to [loudly] scorn the notion [not that she would listen] before storming out. It was idiotic [dangerous] and pointless. And not even a notion, it was a [brash] plan that had been already set in motion [again without his counsel]. Had she a death-wish? Was that the crux of the matter?

[No] [it could not be] [she was too strong for that].

His temper and feet carried Javik to the cargo hold [unsurprising] [how else to rid this nervous energy]. Weights, the empty training ring and primitive combat-sim represented the make-shift training chamber, but it was the punching bag that drew him. 

To read Liara as reckless was worrying [distressing]; even in battle she’s always remained methodical. And now the [cursed] drell had sold her out [may his livers wither and spleen fail].

He thought of her [the cerulean asari of too many questions], battered and bloody and dragged before her foes.

With a snarl, Javik slammed a fist hard into the worn leather [not hard enough]. The pain [raw knuckles and aching teeth] did not help his disquiet.

“This is ridiculous, Vaal, and you know it.”

Vexed voices crackled as the door slid open [pulsing flumes of disbelief and alarm], and Javik paused [unsure].

“It’s not really our call, kid,” came Vaalsa’s distinct, raspy tone, and it was gratifying to know he was not alone in condemning Liara’s notion. Her eyes flickered to Javik [unsurprised by so much of this] [more matriarch than matron], and she lifted one shoulder in bored resignation.

“Kid,” scoffed Dankana, [sleek and slim] stalking past Javik to tear out gloves and padding from a locker at a frantic [furious] pace. “Kid! If I’m a kid, she’s a baby! Goddess, she should be drinking too much at university, or drinking too much at a bar. Not all of this!”

“’Kana…” The older asari folded her arms and leaned against a pylon. She, of all of them, seemed the less shaken [an old soul] [weather-beaten and wind-swept]. “Aethyta told us to expect a handful.”

Such platitudes did not comfort the younger asari [all riled and ready]. Indeed, they did not comfort Javik. He turned back to the punching bag [jaw clenched]. By rights he should wrap his hands if he truly intended to vent this way [he would not].

“Yeah, but my little sister is four decades older and is still serving drinks on Illium,” the asari pilot fumed [with purpose] as she threw the focus pads to Vaalsa, whilst donning gloves. “And Little Mother, here, is telling us that her most powerful ally has allowed hits to be taken on her?”

“All of our maidens are old, these days,” quipped Vaalsa.

“He is not her most powerful ally,” Javik muttered [petulant] [petty] [for shame]. Dankana merely gave him a dead-eyed stare [he deserved it]. Vaalsa snorted.

“You think it’s Councillor Aethyta keeping her arse out of trouble?” Dankana shook her [pale] head, throwing out two experimental jabs. “All the intel we get keeping the Doctor alive is from the Shadow Broker.”

They [the asari] did not know that Liara was the Shadow Broker [at least in name]. Still, only the naïve would assume that meant the danger was mitigated [their enemies could find her] [kill her]. 

“We did sign up for this,” sighed the medic, stepping up with raised padded hands. Javik could feel how the [old] asari layered her fears [her calm] with [long] experience [at loss]. “And it’s not like she hasn’t survived an assassination before.”

“That’s not helpful, Vaal,” Dankana retorted, throwing her first punch. 

Javik agreed [bitterly].

.

.

**40.**

Fragrances of clove and mhya flower daintily wafted through the open air receiving rooms of Matriarch Irissa. Sleek pale décor with rose-gold detailing leant an air of finery to the otherwise austere setting. Such subtle displays of wealth were so classically Thessian, Liara struggled not to bite her lips at the display.

The maiden acolyte gestured toward circular low chaise-lounges. Framed by elegant, abstract sculptures of the Goddess herself, the apartment looked out onto the half formed city-scape of Nos Plous.

All the finery of Illium could not hide the multitude of cranes, scaffolding and abandoned rubble marring the view. Or the lack of smaller adornments, chains of faith, weavings and the like, within the pent-house suite. Liara took a grim satisfaction from that, even as her lower back ran cold.

“Ritsi, that is all. Make sure Doctor T’Soni’s companion is cared for.” The Matriarch Irissa waved a hand idly from where she already reclined, not even rising to meet her guest. A glass pitcher, filled with aquamarine liquid, and two glasses stood on the small table before her. The acolyte dipped in a small, polite bow and hurried away. 

For herself, Liara made her unhurried way around the lounge, silently hoping that Javik would make himself useful in the foyer.

He’d not said a word about having to wait outside, for all that he’d insisted on accompanying her everywhere. Liara wasn’t sure what to make of that; it would have been safer if he’d stayed behind. 

“Matriarch Irissa,” Liara greeted, inclining her head slightly when at last she came into the other asari’s eye-line. “I’m honoured to have been invited to take counsel with you.”

“And I’m impressed you even came,” the Matriarch answered, tilting her head back to study Liara like a bug. “My acolytes were sure you were too self-important to indulge my wishes.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Liara replied coolly, for all her pride felt irked. “The sharing of knowledge is a tenet I place high value in.”

The question, and her answer were calculated. Every word spoken in this room was likely to be. She had to be clever, careful, for all that Liara wished for Shepard’s brash charm and bold charisma. 

“Oh, few could doubt that, Doctor,” Irissa countered dryly. “Won’t you take a seat?”

Liara accepted, being careful not to sit so close as to presume intimacy, or far away enough to project fear. Her host chuckled softly, straightening from her recline so as to seize the pitcher. Liara studied the casual bent of Irissa’s wrist as she poured two glasses, the neatly cut and pale painted nails on the hand that passed her one. 

“My thanks.” 

Irissa raised her glass, tipping her head back for a luxurious mouthful of liquor. Saefos Valley metaxa, from the rolling scent. Liara merely pressed the glass rim to her lips in a perfunctory gesture.

“It has been a long time since two of us met, Liara T’Soni,” Irissa said slowly, with the idle curiosity of a cat. “You were even younger then.”

That had Liara startled and blinking, even as her fingers twitched at the slight. The dossier her Broker agents had complied on Irissa noted that she had spent time as an acolyte of Benezia, though Liara could not remember ever encountering the ultramarine asari. 

“Apologies, I do not recall,” she said, clearing her throat from a sudden ball of nerves. Her glance at the Matriarch was sharp under her fluttering lashes. “Most of those who surrounded my mother saw me as an annoyance or an opportunity. I soon learnt to ignore them.” 

Irissa smiled at her response, but it more resembled a sneer. The pale markings on her forehead matched the whites of her eyes. Liara kept her expression light and guileless, as empty a gesture as they both knew it was. 

“A pity you did not do more to endear yourself to them,” The Matriarch took another long sip of her metaxa, swirling the liquid idly around the glass. “Much of your current predicaments might then be alleviated.”

Her own drink rested awkwardly on her knees. How many times had Liara watched fond smiles become strained and brittle when she would not recommend one or the other to her mother? Too many for her childish heart, and so instead of cultivating contacts, Benezia’s daughter had shunned them

“Perhaps,” Liara granted. “I never did possess the foresight or patience of my mother.”

The older asari indulged in a smile of her own, pleased by the admission.

“Only the thirst for knowledge, and that has left you in a bit of a knot, hasn’t it?”

Liara shrugged; Irissi was searching for a point of weakness, the soft seam in her stitching. Wanted to gain something before placing her bets. But Liara was not a child anymore, and there was little left that was soft in her, it seemed.

“Not as much as some would suppose,” Liara said carefully, truthfully; she trusted the Matriarch with a weakness like a knife in the back. “I am rather resourceful.” 

“So I’ve heard, and yet,” Irissa sent a level gaze her way that made Liara’s teeth grind. “Half the Atamna are out for your scalp where once they would have welcomed you into their circles with open arms.”

Liara allowed her wince to show, it was even mostly unexaggerated. It was no galactic mystery that a number of attempts had been made on her life. Neither was the fact that the holdings and market shares of a number of her detractors had plummeted dramatically, especially those indulging in less than legal practices. Granted, such efforts were also done by less than legal means. 

Still, Liara kept her spine straight and face high. Every act of violence Liara metered out had been tallied and stored away in the dark archives of her memory. With each new mark and the long arms of her influence, another tally was made. Funding to refugee support centres on Thessia. Unexpected commissions to reinstate the VI Dem-debate forums connecting major cities and colonies. The founding of a controversial labour for learning rebuilding scheme with the krogan. 

The future was not just for fighting; Liara believed that. Had to. Even Shepard had found some kind of peace, with her husband and adopted brood and centre for trauma-strung youths. Liara would follow her there one day; her own private war on behalf of her people had just not quite finished yet.

“There are always consequences for our actions; near and far-reaching,” Liara smiled to herself, remembering a lesson in the sun. Her mother dressed in yellow as she tutored her young daughter. Patience, she schooled into thoughts. “I accepted that. Something the Matriarchs have forgotten, I think.” 

Irissa sighed, and stood to pace towards the open city view. Somewhere, a lute-song began, haltingly like a novice. Liara did not join her, for they were not equals.

“You’re not entirely wrong,” The svelte asari gestured with her glass to the construction that loomed over the sky-line. “I may not be as wise or wealthy as Tolmina and those other old buzzards who have set themselves against you, but only a fool tries to save a sinking ship with a spoon.” 

Liara bit the inside of her cheek; admiration and accusation both lined the Matriarch’s tone. She could not decipher which would win out, whether she’d gain an ally or an enemy by the end of this consultation. 

“And you, Liara T’Soni, have stolen all the spoons,” Irissa’s gaze was littered with flint, and not at all forgiving. “It will take centuries for Thessia to recover her galactic standing. The only reason the asari are not pariahs on level with batarians is that salarians fear being outmanoeuvred, and the turians love their hierarchies.”

“Change cannot come from still waters,” the young asari answered mildly, not wavering once in her glare or conviction.

“No.” The Matriarch turned back to the sky-line, and Liara wondered if this too was a ploy. “You know, I have been offered the position of Councillor should your father…choose to step down.”

Pulse drumming, Liara pressed her lips together and toyed with her slowly warming glass. Aethyta herself had had a lot to say on the matter, namely to do with it being over her cold, dead corpse. 

And how much had that to do with protecting Liara? In her father, she’d found a fierce defender on par with Shepard’s unending protectiveness. So different from Benezia’s subtle schooling. Maybe Aethyta was making up for lost time; it was still a novelty and unexpected. And nice.

“Do you wish for the position?” Liara asked carefully.

“It is a useful one,” conceded Irissa, glass pressed to her lips in contemplation. “Councillor Aethyta served well in the wake of war, but many fear there is a conflict of interest.”

It was bait, and clumsily set too. Easy to avoid, despite the curl of displeasure in Liara’s gut.

“Alternatively, my father is remarkably popular with non-asari races,” she said instead. “The krogan admire her, and the turians are kept on their toes.”

Irissa let out a short, snide laugh.

“But does she still represent the will of the asari people?”

“Do you?”

“Well,” Irissa hummed coyly, head tilted. As she stepped back to the chaise, her hips swayed. “That remains to be seen.”

This was a gentle seduction then, another ploy for power. Disgust licked at her throat, and Liara was so tired of such games.

“Matriarch,” Shoulders strong, Liara faced the older asari with a steely expression. “What further advantage could I possibly gain from granting you a place on the Council that my father could not give me?”

Irissa eased herself onto the lounge space beside her, the markings on her cheeks pulling up at her sweet, sharp smile. 

It would be a small thing to rend her with a singularity.

“I have been fastidiously neutral in the Siari Scandal, my dear Doctor,” Irissa began, blinking leisurely as she studied Liara. “My voice would be seen as an objective one.”

“You were not one of the Atamna, and thus not directly implicated,” Liara agreed, watching as pale painted nails reached out and softly caressed her arm. 

“Which doesn’t mean I have no connection to them,” elaborated the Matriarch, trailing her fingers up Liara’s bicep to trace her cheek. Light enough to be motherly, tender enough to be solicitation. “Unlike you or your father, I have cultivated my friends and associates.”

Something hard caught in her throat; Javik remained outside and Dankana remained with their car. There were many walls between Liara and freedom should these negotiations go sour. Irissa’s touch crawled over her skin like insidious spiders in a gentle reminder.

“An uneasy ally close to my enemies, then?” Voice rough, Liara shook her head to clear the cloud of her thoughts. Standing abruptly, this time it was Liara who strode away. Her crest ached, arms wrapped about her to stave off the creeping sensation that lingered. “For as long as it conveniences you.”

“And yourself,” countered Irissa, unconcerned by the rejection. “I’ll not forget the damage you’re capable of. My voice could be a powerful one to your cause.”

A truth, for Liara had thoroughly tracked Irissa’s connections. Her perceived neutrality could turn the tide for many lower tiered Matriarchs who remained in indecision.

“Think on it, Liara T’Soni.” When she glanced back, the Matriarch eyed her over her empty glass. “But don’t think too long. There’s only so many places you can run.” 

.

.

**41.**

“Javik,” the asari’s voice was thin with worry [relief expanding and contracting] as he entered the small accommodation facility they shared in Nos Plous. “Good, you’re back.”

Already his stance shifted to battle-ready [feet apart, knees bent]. Liara stank of panic and fear and haste and already he wanted to haul her behind him so he could [protect her] scope the room for intruders without interference.

“What has happened? Vaalsa would not say.” Javik asked instead [worry bouncing off his tongue]. Was it the [long-faced] commando [Sederis] who had hunted them from Petro Ria, the Matriarch [Irissa] from last week or another opponent who had come to test their mettle? 

“No, not over comms,” Liara agreed, darting from shelf to shelf, data drives cradled in her [smooth] arms. “Pack everything you can’t do without. I’ll explain on the way.”

His limbs jolted to obedience [an order] [a mission] [he had to obey], and there was an urgency to Liara’s tone that booked no argument. Eying the entrance one last time [the bustle of Liara’s actions], Javik avoided the open line of the windows as he strode to his room. Not an easy thing, given the [indulgent] asari inclination for natural light.

There was little for him to pack; his rifle and pistol, clips, scopes [from Syn], med supplies and food rations. And the book [Mahabharata] [a ponderous thing] [full of small wisdom], and a small turian charm that had been gifted to him [Tutela’s gentle grief at his leaving].

Liara stacked the last of her [precious] data drives into a duffle-bag as he re-entered the main room [all power cut], lime green anxiety slick like sweat over her scent. A hand fluttered up to her comm-link, and her blue eyes leapt to his [dread falling away from her cheeks].

“Dankana’s here.” 

With a haste born from war, they collected the last of their [few] vital possessions and exited the apartment building via the back facing fire-escape [Javik took point] [senses stretched and sound]. Adrenaline thrummed through his body [like an old friend] [combat-sharp and strong]. Before them lay treacherous waters, but he was made for this [was a soldier].

He [briefly] wondered that all his senses [so dark and damp and dull] only came alive now at the prospect of battle [death].

“Get us to the spaceport,” Liara barked as they bundled into the waiting sky-car. The pilot [driver] [Dankana] hit the acceleration hard. “Make sure the others are ready.”

A deep line creased Liara’s forehead, hooding her eyes with ominous premonition. Though he’d seen her slip into many distant [and dark] moods, this gravitas cloyed at his sensors and worried his nerves.

“What has happened?” Javik asked again [anxious, annoyed], once the car had swept into traffic.

The corners of Liara’s mouth dropped lower and she ducked her head; a rare act of submission [defeat?] [betrayal?]. Thick tension hung off her [lead weights over her chest and shoulders] [heavy and hurt] in rivers.

“The Asari Republics has lobbied to extradite me from Council space,” she said, voice low and layered [obscure like frosted glass]. “I’ve been charged with treason.” 

Their driver [Dankana] inhaled sharply and Javik felt an ugly coil [of course it was betrayal] in the apex of his chest. Did he not recall the well of horror that had engulfed [consumed] him in the moments preceding the hardest and longest of his hunts [50,000 years dulled the memory] [but not the pain]. 

Of course her trust had been broken. Of course she was now a pariah. The Cosmic Imperative did not let up for anyone. 

“I told you that Matriarch would move against you.” He struggled to speak [to know] [to act]. Javik should have strangled the [insidious] Matriarch the moment Liara had exited that meeting clad in the scent of another’s thwarted lust. Bad enough that he’d traced their enemies from the room and attendants [etched into the fabric of that place] [fresh in the memory of the Acolyte].

“No, this is too sudden, too obvious. Someone panicked.” the asari disagreed. Javik huffed; only fools considered those who had pledged no allegiance as anything other than enemies. 

“Still, there are enough Matriarchs with enough contacts on Illium to make it very dangerous for us,” Liara continued [dark mouth thin], and there was an edge to her words [resignation in her tone] [anger on her teeth] even as the hum of the sky-car engine hummed a false serenity. 

When at last Liara glanced up, pupils wide where she met his own intense gaze [he felt too much] [so unsteady].

“Your Council’s response?” Javik asked [he knew the answer].

“Yes, well,” Liara bit her bottom lip and chuckled to herself, though it was a dry and dreadful sound. “The Council have yet to respond. On one hand, they’ve yet to finish bickering over what reparations the asari owe the other council races. On the other, if they give me up, the Matriarchs might be more willing to acquiesce to their demands.”

“Already the failings of your shared government are made apparent,” Javik hissed softly [wire wound around his guts] [her remaining parental figure, too]. Where was the unity, the justice, the gratitude?

“Oh?” she tilted her head [lidded eyes flashing]. “And how would the Prothean Empire have reacted to learning that the highest paragons of their government had done so by betraying their core beliefs?”

“We would have executed those responsible without preamble,” he told Liara without hesitation [with pride]. Someone like her [a trail-blazer] [a truth hunter] would have been lauded a hero [an avatar] for pushing so for progress [for change] [for strength]. “Their insides would have been strung up outside the Kamada as a warning to all those who would seek personal gain over the Empire.”

Stagnation was the death knell for any species [a hard truth]. Had not the Reapers proven that?

“Ah.”

She turned her head, eyeing the fleeting city outside the car [the curve of her cheek] [a tinted reflection]. He wondered if she’d been expecting this, and for how long. Had she lain awake at night pondering the condemnation of her people? 

A strange bubbling cloyed at his gut. Mouth dry, the prothean waded through his fragmented memories for the last time he felt such a sensation [could not find it]. But it was not for himself [that he feared] [no] [death was an old companion].

[Death could not have her].

“What will happen to you?” Javik croaked [choked from his revelation] [an old one] [that continued to strike].

Liara’s answering smile was wan [uncomforting].

“That depends on who finds me first.” 

.

.

**42.**

“This was an idiotic venture.” The venom in Javik’s tone was diminished by his weight, crushing him from being trapped upside-down in what had until recently been a serviceable sky-car. “Unsurprising that it has ended in disaster.”

“Then why did you agree to it?” Liara asked breathlessly, wincing as she hoisted herself through a shattered window. Focused on the sound of his disapproval and not the ringing in her skull. She wished she’d worn armour.

“I did not.”

Somehow she managed to laugh at the bite of it, even as glass scraped over her thighs. Or perhaps it was a sob. 

Palms and knees raw, Liara crawled out of the upturned vehicle. Looking at the driver’s sea revealed that Dankana was dead; a limp, pale figure sagging against her harness. Hollow, jagged rage churned from beneath Liara’s ribs, but she bit her tongue and battered it down.

Tapping her comm-link once, twice, brought nothing but static, Goddess take it. Still inside the vehicle, muffled noises marked Javik’s continued struggle with the seatbelt. A burst of gun-shots shattered the eerie aftermath of the explosion; both froze like frightened pyjaks.

“That was rifle fire,” Liara whispered, wondering who, if any, of her commandos were still alive.

Goddess willing.

Another drumming cut through the air, and the answering fire cracked the ice that had held her limbs. Staggering to her feet, Liara winced at her battered body; her left arm felt jarred and stiff like lead.

“It approaches,” Javik snapped, and Liara ducked her head. Stupid, to be so dazed and in the open. Even if the dust and ash had yet to settle. Scolding herself, the asari stumbled to his side of the crashed car.

With bruised hands, she pulled at the torn door handle. The twisted metal did not move, only prompting a snort of disgust from her trapped prothean. At least he was alive and responsive.

“Lean away,” Liara ordered, hands splayed wide as she prepared to lift it off with biotics. Never mind the burn in her shoulders and thighs or the tremor in her voice. The biting fire in her arm.

“Just watch your aim,” Javik shot back at her, curling away from the crumbled door that imprisoned him.

“Oh, very funny.” 

Breathing deep, Liara flexed her fingers and called blue power out from her throat, down over her elbows and off her palms to surround the car door. Swinging her body weight, Liara summoned her biotics up and wrenched the twisted chunk of metal away. 

It hit another broken sky-car with a loud clang, enough to pause the gunfire.

“By the-” Liara breathed, shaking hands ghosting over her holstered SMG. With cracking knees, she bent down beside the trapped prothean. “Can you-?”

“The buckle is jammed,” Javik spat, hands tearing at the seat-belt he hung against as his face grew steadily greener. Thick, dark blood coated one side of his face. A sick lurch convulsed her insides; a bad wound. Blood loss and infection would set in if not treated soon.

Flinching as the fire-fight closed in on them, Liara reached for the buckle.

“Hold still,” she told him, only to pause at a shadow darting through a pillar of smoke. “Goddess!”

The bullet missed her head by a thread as Liara threw up a hand. Too slow, still, but the barrier caught the second and third bullet.

“Just go,” hissed Javik, as Warp Ammo ate away at her barrier. Liara snarled raw and vicious in response, tucked to the side of the damaged car as she drew her SMG and returned fire.

The shadow ducked away behind a street balustrade, granting them a few seconds reprieve. 

“If I do, then you’re dead,” Liara argued tersely, blood pounding as her eyes darted over the smoke clogged streets for any sign of their attacker’s next move. She’d made a promise. One palm up, the asari renewed her barrier, staying close to Javik so that he too was protected. “Hurry up and cut yourself free.”

A turian’s profile looked over the balustrade, and Liara’s narrowed glare saw and sent fire his way. 

Breath fast and hard and nostrils flaring for more air, she prayed for some kind of miracle. They were open and ripe of the picking, and Liara did not have the energy to hold her barrier and pull cover toward them. Her left arm was sluggish and dull and her vision, cloudy; the crash must have rattled her more than she thought.

The sizzle of an omni-blade buzzed at her side, followed by a heavy thump and distinctive prothean cursing. The corner of her mouth quirked up as another shadow joined the turian bounty hunter, heads bobbing up to take aim. 

Liara felt the impact against her barrier like a krogan hammer, rattling her bones as she struggled to stay up right. And the turians just kept firing, and firing and firing.

“Javik,” she pleaded though gritted teeth, both palms out and shaking. Her gun lay useless by her feet.

A low groan and a shuffle broke through the chaos in her skull. The taut wail of Javik’s rifle blared across the broken street, blasting back the bare-faced turian.

“Nice of you to join me,” Liara sobbed, hauling Javik out by the shoulders in the scant moments he’d bought them. There was too much blood, too much heat in his eyes and she was afraid.

Javik flashed his teeth and shrugged her off, maintaining controlled fire at their foe. Biotics flaring again, they sprinted through the bomb wreckage, putting cars and distance between them and their hunters.

The SMG in her hand felt heavy as the bullets chased them. In tangent, Javik and Liara charged through a damaged store-front. Heart hardened to the civilian groans and fearful whimpers, Liara ducked behind the counter to drag Javik into the store-rooms. Let no thought linger on that she had brought danger to those who did not deserve it. Again, lost a friend.

A good, loyal friend, Liara grieved. _Goddess lift her soul to the stars and guide her light to the next journey._

Beside her, Javik practically pulsed with purpose. His tall frame checked each turn as she covered his back in turn. How different to his usual apathy; it felt natural to slide into his pattern, to mirror each movement. 

Already the sirens of emergency vehicles screamed in approach. Her scalp was on fire as she ducked past Javik, his rifle ready as she kicked open the emergency exit. 

“Avoid the main streets, they’ll have lookouts,” Liara warned, voice harsh as they stalked down an alley. Javik’s gold eyes flickered to her; blood still ran freely across his cheek. She bit the inside of her mouth. 

Likely the bounty hunters had been gunning for a quick retrieval; and extended street battle had far too many potential complications. Still, they could not assume that the turians had called off their operation. 

Javik raised a hand as they came to a street view, awash with panicked people and chaos. Pausing, Liara checked behind them, trying to ignore her aches and pains.

“It’s not safe,” he said, face stern with anxious eyes that ran from her to the frantic crowd. Too many were armed and ready for a fight. “We need a bolt-hole."

Liara watched the muscle in his jaw clench, and nodded her agreement.

“Rooftop?” Liara asked, tilting her head to a roller-door behind some bins. The building was tall and white; likely all offices up top from the spacious windows. “I could hijack their com-tower and reach Lieutenant Aanja.”

If she were still alive. Javik grunted his assent.

Hacking the door was a piece-meal; Liara had learned more than a few tricks over the years. Javik had a presence that brokered no argument, and the ground staff were in no mind to debate. Act with authority people would grant it, she’d learned. They took the fire-escape to avoid being seen and listened tense to every open door.

The climb was not easy on their weary bodies.

“Sit down,” she said, somewhere around the sixteenth floor. “You’re about to fall over.”

Displeasure radiated off every rigid line on Javik’s body, wide shoulders severe under his glare. A testament to his injuries that he complied without a word, landing heavily on the concrete floor. His grip on his rifle remained ready.

Liara sniffed as she holstered her weapon and knelt beside him. 

She reached for his face instinctively. Though he’d scrubbed most of the blood away, the wound remained worn and open. Javik flinched from her fingers, but Liara hesitated only to fetch a medi-gel dispenser from her pockets. Liara licked her lips at his wary stare.

“We’ve left it too long as is,” she told him, gaze determined. Javik did not respond at first, and Liara wondered if she would have to wrestle him to apply the damn stuff.

Then his gaze lowered, even as his mouth bent crooked and Liara took that as unwilling consent. With one hand, shoulder throbbing, she gently tipped his chin down so as to get a better look at his carapace.

It was hard to miss the way his breath stuttered, and she was sorry for the pain. Or whatever he read from her that caused such distress. The wound was bad, though; the plating right above his eyes was cracked deep and bleeding sluggishly. Already the delicate skin of his eyelids swelled and darkened; barbour green over the burgundy around his eyes.

“Hurry up, asari,” Javik snapped, voice strained. Liara bit her tongue and set the medi-gel thickly along the broken edges of his carapace. His nostrils flared as he exhaled at her touch.

Swiping a bit on her thumb, Liara schooled her expression and mind to tend to the other scrapes and cuts that littered his face. Ignored the twitch of his torso. The harsh line of Javik’s cheek-bone was solid under her touch. Firmer than she’d expected, and smoother. 

His eyes seemed almost luminous from where they looked down at her, wide and unblinking. She covered a nick in his chin with gel and tried not to study where the deep red line ran from throat to chin to lip. Her chest constricted unexpectedly, and her ministrations faltered.

Goddess, she didn’t want to lose him too. Not after Dankana. Ousia. Shepard. Her mother.

Heat clogged her eyes, and Liara jerked back as she desperately blinked away surprising tears. She supposed her adrenaline high was fading. Sitting back on her heels, the asari turned the medi-gel dispenser over as her hands shook.

Ridiculous, she chided herself.

Javik was as still as stone before her, silent again in the absence of gunfire. She forced her lungs to contract and expand in even breaths. This was not the time or place for her tears or her grief.

“Liara,” Javik said, and there was a weight there, a question, that she didn’t know how to process, let alone answer.

“We should go,” Her voice sounded wet, but she studiously ignored that. Pretended that there was no apology in her tone. They had to get to the roof, contact her commandos and assess the damage. 

Get the hell of this forsaken planet before any more of her people died.

Too many had already, because of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a nightmare to get the tone right. Probably my least favourite chapter to date. I'm just hoping that the plot is coherent and clear enough not to be a major mess. Sorry that there are so many minor characters that keep popping up. It was important to me that the galaxy outside Javik and Liara's bubble still be a presence. So, even if a character isn't around much, you get the idea that other stuff is going on.
> 
> Hoped you guys like it regardless!
> 
> Glossary:  
> Atamna: Athame high priestesses  
> Chahhu: Asari biotic dance routine.  
> Kamada: Prothean word for the imperial court.  
> Marbar Ya: Prothean word for the carers of young.  
> Shihiid: Martyr  
> Soaxiib: Prothean word for comrade, typically referring to experienced, familiar military teams.  
> Kamen: Quarian word for object


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javik would have pondered [dismissed] more at the peculiar sensations that thought generated in him but for the round, plump, [decidedly] toothy thing that clung, suddenly and determinedly, to his leg. 
> 
> “Get off,” Javik growled [unnerved] [unsure], letting the full force of his four-eyed glare loose on the dirt-smudged [happy] [how strange] youngling. The small krogan’s mouth stretched impossibly wider [wily glint in its eye]. Shaking his leg [undignified but hopefully effective] only caused a twinge in his still healing side. The blasted [bug eyed] thing only clung tighter.

.

.

**43.**

Javik did not like Tuchanka. He’d been unimpressed [with the place] [with the people] during the war, and the barren hell-mouth of a planet [sour taste of radiation] [stuck in the dirt and the air] had not improved in the interim. The only difference was that there was a lot more krogan. And they were much louder [and smaller] [and brighter].

[If they turned on them, he would not be able to kill them all].

At least [some of] their architecture extended beyond [crude] hollowed out bunkers. There was an actual space port attached to the Urdnot stronghold. A communication tower and water silo broke over the otherwise low standing skyline [silhouetted over the sun-touched horizon]. Rough and ugly by design, naturally, but it gave Javik a [small] illusion of civilisation [progress]. Even this thought [self-delusion] made him snort; there was nothing civil on Tuchanka. 

“Liara!’ The grizzled krogan leader [Battlemaster] [Wrex] roared, tucking the asari under a meaty arm in some kind of embrace [warm and welcoming] [yet still] [he tensed]. “Ah! You have the look of a warrior about you now.”

“Well, it was bound to happen some time,” Liara said. It had been so long since he had seen her [tense] grin that he almost mistook the expression as aggression.

Javik would have pondered [dismissed] more at the peculiar sensations that thought generated in him but for the round, plump, [decidedly] toothy thing that clung, suddenly and determinedly, to his leg. 

A [bursting] fuzz of glee emitted from the small creature [a babe] [no amount of teeth could hide the softness of its scalp]. Still, the krogan were a peculiar [primitive] race; were babes left unattended [undisciplined] so?

“Get off,” Javik growled [unnerved] [unsure], letting the full force of his four-eyed glare loose on the dirt-smudged [happy] [how strange] youngling.

The small krogan’s mouth stretched impossibly wider [wily glint in its eye]. Shaking his leg [undignified but hopefully effective] only caused a twinge in his still healing side. The blasted [bug eyed] thing only clung tighter. 

Javik [cagily] flicked his [failed] gaze to where the krogan and asari conversed. The old krogan had a [heavy] hand on Liara’s shoulder [meant as a comfort], as her eyes fluttered closed in care.

“I’m glad you made it,” Wrex’s gritty voice rumbled to his ears [dark with disquiet] [soft like a secret]. “Heard about the firefight on Imorkan. Sounded tough.”

“Sorry you missed it?” Liara replied, but even to Javik her words sounded flat [tired and taut].

“Damn straight! Heh,” the krogan slapped her back so hard even Javik winced [but it was hot air and bluster] [protective worry hammered at the world]. Liara leaned in, lips twisted [and his hearts twisted]; she always held herself so still.

Returning his [down cast] attention back to the menace on his leg, Javik bared his [sharp] teeth to subdue [startle] the obnoxious babe. The small krogan blinked lazily, face alighting as it thought to mimic him, and [no, don’t you dare] [you little-] decided to expand on the impression by sinking it’s pale teeth into Javik’s calf.

He [just] barely held back a [strangled] string of profanities [in the face of its simple pleasure] [delight radiating like a sunbeam] [from such a sharp pain]. 

“Berhk!” A young, clear voice screeched, and Javik suffered [yet] another small alien to latch onto his leg. Small, blue arms [barely] wrapped around krogan and limb both, and he stared at the tender head-tentacles that swept over the new youngling’s scalp [an asari] [a baby asari].

Shock stopped his struggles; it was one thing to be bombarded by baby krogan on Tuchunka [degrading] [but not entirely unexpected]. A baby asari [in this radioactive wasteland] was another. 

They were both so tiny [terrifying] [teeming with life]. He wondered that they weren’t cut by his jadedness.

“Off!” Demanded the last of the protheans [idly wishing for poise]. The [devilish] krogan gurgled happily, and the [tiny] asari child wrinkled her [odd] pointy nose up at him. 

“He’s just teething,” she exclaimed, bottom lip stuck out like a doorstop. “Most don’t even notice.”

“I am not a teething device!” Javik barked, trying again to shake them off [without harm] [but they would not budge]. The contact was becoming troubling; Javik contemplated bouncing the younglings off with biotics. He did not [entirely] trust himself to hold them [what with the strange sensation sparkling in his chest] [and he just felt so heavy and worn at the sight of them]. 

“I see you’ve met the next terrors to scourge Tuchanka,” the old krogan chuckled, abruptly close by [sharp eyed] [good natured]. Javik flinched at the [fondness] amusement [indignity] directed his way.

Teeth bared [reflexive] [confused], Javik snapped his gaze up to snarl at the senile old barbarian [demand he remove the nuisances]-

Yet.

One hand raised to her face, Liara’s eyes were crinkled [sparkled] [in pleasure] [delight] as the lightest sound he’d ever heard bubbled off her tongue [lavender and pink mirth danced around her].

It was an unfettered smile [he’d never-].

[she was-] His heart-beats skipped.

When had Javik last seen her smile [so open and warm]? Never because of him. 

Outside of his revelation, blunt [baby] teeth gnawed determinedly at the meat of his shin. The old krogan watched with undisguised glee [wore his smugness like a crown], and the scowl that engulfed Javik’s face only brought the onlookers more amusement.

“Remove your offspring!” Javik demanded, as the asari child protested [ignored the break in his voice] [his flustered distemper] [the sight of Liara laughing].

“Ah, the little sprouts are always chewing on things,” the krogan turned his face to study the scene with each eye [mouth wide in warning]. “Especially if it struggles.”

“Oh, don’t be cross,” Liara implored [through her damnable giggles]. And Javik wasn’t [not really].

Until tiny fingers pinched the back of his knee and saliva coated calf, and Javik bit out curses and clenched his hands into fists.

“Hah!” But Wrex [finally] scooped up each [dratted] [precious] youngling in one massive sweep in his craggy arms. “You two troublemakers.”

“It weren’t my fault!” objected the asari child, small hands pressed to the krogan’s scarred cheek. The baby krogan had proceeded to chew on Wrex’s thick fingers. “Berhk’s just gnawing.”

Javik watched as Liara’s gaze lingered on the babes [wistful] [wanting], even as she stepped towards him. Her expression had turned [unbearably] fond [weak and frail] [and yet].

“Course he is, Petal,” rumbled Wrex, lifting his chin their way. “Here, Liara, hold Chomp for me.”

“Are you sure?” But her arms were already open and welcoming, as Wrex passed over a fussing Berhk. 

Javik watched [with no small surprise] as Liara bundled the plump krogan up and tickled his belly. The resulting chortle was very krogan [and toothy] [and utterly immersed in bliss]. He could not help but step [hesitantly] closer [such a foreign feeling] and Liara offered a small [shy] smile for his curiosity. 

“You call everyone Chomp!” The [impertinent] asari child whined.

“Yeah, well you all look the same to me,” answered the Battlemaster. “C’mon, where’s Ereba?”

Much later, when Tuchunka’s sun had long set and the boisterous fire-pits of the Urdnot strong-hold still burned strong, Javik blinked again at the objectionable [but bearable] planet they’d taken refuge on. His good will surprised himself; all evening he’d fought [wrestled] [chased off] [startled] [instructed] hoards of krogan young who’d wanted to test themselves against the mighty prothean [the strange, new alien] in their midst. 

Now bereft of any energy, Javik sat, content [well fed] [well run], by the asari [Liara] and listened to the pleased hum of her laughter as the old krogan regaled yet another [wildly improbably and preposterous] story. 

It might, Javik pondered [breathing slow and steady], be more comprehensible if the krogan had more eyes by which to articulate with. A noticeable failing of this cycle [but not overly inexcusable]. Krogan could not, however, hold a tune.

Still, his senses were hazy [warmth from the flames] [food] and [slowly] Javik’s chin dipped to meet his chest. He fought the sensation [valiantly] [stay awake and alert], on guard in this strange place. Despite Liara’s [loose and lovely] ease [so rare and new], Javik held off complacency in the stronghold of the [hulking] [armed] primitives that surrounded them.

Some breathy noise of surprise rattled through his skull, and Javik [leapt to attention] [failed to] murmured against the disquiet of it. That it was Liara, caused by his [Javik] slumped so in his seat to lean his bulk [rest] against her, went beyond his ability to care [trusted her instincts] [was so weary].

“Ha, I was wondering when he’d go,” [krogan laughter].

“Oh hush. Pass be that bedroll,” [asari soothing]. 

Javik vaguely registered being eased off his asari [Liara] and [gently] cocooned in something warm and itchy. 

“Sleep,” Liara urged him, a warm hand on his carapace [above his tender wound]. He could feel the calming cloud of her presence [peace of mind] [had not felt it for so long]. 

The next time Javik approached consciousness, most of the singing had [thankfully] faded and the fire-pits cast a steady glow across the sleeping shapes of krogan [piled atop one another] [ramshackle and communal].

A steady, smaller shape was tucked [close] beside him, wrapped in another lumpy blanket. Javik could taste the [familiar] patterns of Liara’s scent [salt and stone and sun]. Opening two lazy eyes, he traced the shape of her back [huddled under her own covers], from the slope of her hip to the [dark] points of her crest. One shoulder [so smooth and strange, unplated] had escaped the blanket, revealing a blue slither of skin peeking out from her under-suit [lit by an orange glow].

Humming [unthinkingly] [some old melody] to himself, the prothean disengaged one ungainly arm from its warm prison. She was not far away [good] [she ought to stay by his side]; close enough to feel the heat from her body, the taste of her skin. Javik’s gaze caught on her the back of her neck, Javik’s [aching] fingers shook as they brushed her exposed skin.

In her slumber, Liara shivered and sighed. She was so solid there, beside him. Asleep [and at peace] for the first time in a long while. Shifting in his stiffness, Javik let the backs of his fingers rest again against her. A comfort, and reminder [she was there] [she had not left] [would not leave]. 

[she had promised]. 

.

.

**44.**

If there was such thing as a sunny day on Tuchanka, then they had been blessed with this one. Mustard coloured clouds still clogged the sky, but every so often sunlight crept through. When it hit the ruins, the rock lightened to something gleaming. In its heyday, Liara knew, this temple must have been glorious.

It was a vast difference to the constrained walls of ship life that had held so much of her time. That was, of course, when she’d not been in the midst of a fire fight. 

Liara paused from scanning a temple chamber to consider the view, feeling the weight around her heart lessen at the scene. Around her hardworking students chatted and krogan children ran about the regal statues of their ancestors. Occasionally, their minders barked at excessive rowdiness, but that was rare.

Her younger self would never have thought the krogan capable of such artistry and community. Indeed, when Shaman Bakara had requested her help, Liara had been overwhelmed at the zeal of the local amateur archaeological efforts. What they lacked in technique, the krogan made up for in enthusiasm.

Not always a good thing, given the delicate nature of their findings, but Liara had schooled those interested in the patience and practises needed to successfully capture, document and analyse the unearthed artefacts. After a solid four months’ work, there was some definite improvement.

Four months, her commandos running large, disruptive and distracting missions in other systems and somehow, Liara and Javik had lived in relative peace. If her enemies knew where she had taken refuge, the wrath of the krogan had proved enough of a deterrent to potential assassins and bounty hunters.

It could not last, of course. If anything, their refuge on Tuchanka simply proved how unsustainable her private war had become. For her, for Javik. 

Shielding her eyes against a brief, bright moment, Liara tracked the gaggle of krogan children all mimicking their irritable teacher’s combat forms. 

“You seem to have acquired quite the following,” she said warmly when Javik wandered over. She enjoyed watching him with the children; as brusque as ever. There was nonetheless a reverence in his attitude that clashed wonderfully.

“The krogan are drawn to strength,” scoffed the prothean, dusting dirt off his red armour. “One of their few sensible qualities.”

“Of course,” Liara agreed solemnly, but for the tilt at the corner of her mouth. 

“And you?” Javik asked, eyeing the bobbing form of Glyph darting from krogan to krogan with random factoids. “Have you found what you seek here?”

“There’s never enough to find, in archaeology,” Liara laughed, waving a hand at the entire site. The krogan could study this place for a millennia without learning everything hidden in the ground. “The delight is always in the discovery, uncovering a mystery lost to time like a puzzle. It was perturbing to have Shepard dump all the answers in my lap in one heap.”

“And now?”

Javik’s careful regard followed her hands as she clasped them together.

“The krogan wish for the wisdom to avoid their past mistakes. But to be proud too, for surviving them,” mused Liara. Her fingers were far more calloused now, delighted as she was with tactile excavation. It was a good feeling, an honest one. “It takes a lot of re-evaluation to regard yourself as more than cannon fodder after being told for millennia that’s all your worth.”

“I meant of you,” Javik cut in, an edge to his words that prompt a sharp glance up to meet his keen eyes. “You have been…discordant.”

Liara swallowed thickly, a pulse in her chest ached. She’s not surprised, really. Javik was bound to pick up on her internal conflict, for all she’d tried to hide it. Biting her bottom lip, Liara squinted the geometric lines of the temple. The great stylised statues of past heroes.

“I…I have been contemplating our next move,” Liara told him honestly, haltingly. She resisted the urge to bring up her omni-tool for stats. 

Javik grunted as if that did not surprise him. The sharp curve of his carapace bobbed and turned as he went from studying her hands to his own to watching the children.

“Do you like it here, on Tuchanka, Javik?” 

The muscles around his eyes popped and widened at her sudden question. A muscle in his mouth twitched, before Javik seemed to shake himself, release a knot from his wide shoulders and barrel chest.

“This place is chaotic, and krogan, unpredictable,” he eventually answered, watching her for a reaction. “But they have an earnestness to their thoughts that is refreshing, if unpolished.”

She smiled to herself, to see the fondness in his gaze. Liara would not say that Javik was entirely comfortable at the haven of Clan Urdnot, but he was much less strung. Less prone to reflexive violence and instinctive anger.

He had more of a soft spot for the young krogan then he liked to admit.

“You consider leaving,” Javik stated plainly. Liara lowered her eyes and nodded.

“I consider.” Scuffing her foot in the orange dirt, she studied the hard weeds that sought purchase in the tainted ground.

An old melancholy sunk into her heart and throat, but also pride. It was good that, despite an overwhelming wave of galactic bickering and politics, something was blooming despite the rubble.

Javik too, had found more peace here than by her side.

“Well, look at all this,” she exclaimed, opening her palm to the excavation site around them. Filled with boisterous children and fretting minders and loud scientists, all krogan, and so much more than what the galaxy had considered them before. “The krogan strive so hard to build something in this wasteland. A future for their children to enjoy, and I? I can’t help but think that all I’ve done since the War is…tear things down.” 

Her voice faltered at that last admittance, painful to hear outside her own head. Liara had tried so hard to fight for justice, but it had been twisted, as politics were want to do, to a farcical soap opera.

No matter that asari rage and hurt billowed in the undertow, those above were too well established to tear down. Her status as a traitor was a distraction, and one that had murdered her people and driven her to exile.

The clouds shifted, and the sunlight filtered into its usual hazy grey. A shadow fell across her face, and Liara jumped to see it was Javik.

“No,” he said, gold eyes burning like the sun. He was so close, she could feel the push of him, the agitated air of his presence. His revelation.

“Javik-“

“You cannot.”

Liara bit her lip, and looked away. She could not bear the undisguised horror that edged his tone, could not bear the shame of her choices.

“I-“

Her tongue was leaden and useless. Javik sucked in a sharp breath.

“You should not have started the fight if you were not willing to finish it,” he snarled, stepping closer still, and she could feel the weight of his distress against her skin. “I thought you better than surrender.”

“Maybe I am finishing it,” she said quietly, breathlessly. Hooded eyes caught on the contour of his armour. “On my own terms, maybe, or…”

“Or what?” Long-toothed and angry, Javik’s hands flexed over her shoulders. Reaching, only to pull back, and now Liara could not not look at him. “What is it that makes you offer yourself up like a sacrifice for those who scorn you? Who are you trying to emulate, Shepard, or your mother?”

Pain gurgled in the back of her throat, cutting through her ribs and he was right, damn him. Seeking asylum from the Galactic Council would lay her vulnerable to its precarious whims. But, all focus would be on her and if she played her cards cleverly, she could shame the Council into taking better action against those who sought to ruin her.

He was right, but so was she.

“You say that as if my sacrifices are not my own to make!” Liara’s stubborn tongue mapped out her will, for all that her resolved cracked at his heated response.

She had to do this. For Thessia, for Javik, for any kind of peace.

“They no longer are,” he shot back, loud and livid. “Or are you so ready to abandon your oath to me?”

How hurt pierced her indigo heart with that accusation, knocked the breath from her lungs. But it soon swarmed to stubbornness and anger, and lit off her skin like lighting.

“There are contracts out on every one I love and care for!” Liara blazed, and even Javik stepped back from the storm raging about her. “How can I help you, how can I help anyone while fighting the pillars of my people? I am one person, and I cannot hide here while others burn for my actions.”

“So you will light the flames yourself!” Javik snapped backed, mouth turned crooked and cruel. He scoffed in disgust, refusing to look at her, before spinning on his heel and stalking away.

And suddenly the fight fled her, and Liara found her knees weak as she too backed away from the site of their confrontation. More than one intrigued stare tracked the action, and it was only a few steps before Liara sat down hard on the dirt.

Stubborn, conceited fossil, she seethed, pressing her palms into her eyes. Just to shut off the anger and hurt and resignation that ran from foot to crest. Never mind the hiccups that stuttered her breathing, her stumbling pulse.

Of course he was hurt, but did he think her so unfeeling? Slick bile rose in her throat at the thought of stepping foot onto Victory to leave herself at the mercy of the Council. Hated the thought of Aethyta’s heartache, Shepard’s sorrow and disappointment. Her skin felt so tight, and still Liara refused to acknowledge the burning wetness about her eyes. 

Heavy, angry footsteps returned. It took real effort to force her tear-streaked face to look up.

“I release you,” spat the prothean, like a curse.

“Javik-“ Liara started, but her bared his teeth and swiped away her objections.

“I release you from your promise,” he said again, lower lip turned out low and colour heightened. She didn’t think he’d ever looked so discomposed. “Go martyr yourself as you see fit!”

Liara blinked, lost at his forceful rage and spite. Nothing she said would appease him; Javik saw this as abandonment. A betrayal.

And it was, in a way. But it was the only way to break the cycle, and how bitter that thought tasted.

Ducking her head, Liara nodded in acknowledgement; breath hitched and chest squeezed tight with emotion. His desperate stare was a weight, a condemnation she would have to wear.

“As you wish,” she whispered.

Javik roared in fury and stormed away one final time. She didn’t watch.

.

.

**45.**

He hated it. The dead of night and of course he could not sleep [had not slept well for days]. Hated that with each light laughter from the asari [not her] [Ereba] [and the child], Javik looked up and looked for freckles and a shy smile.

Hated that he still came to the wretched ruined city [that had so delighted her] when sleep avoided him and restlessness bit his bones [the last place they had properly conversed]. 

Even now, moon pale and yellow in the empty sky, Javik could not shake that last lingering look she [the asari] had offered him before following her krogan honour guard onto the [cursed] shuttle [that took her away]. The stone of her sorrow [regret] [resignation] had hooked into both hearts and pulled [still pulled] [from a thousand of light years away].

Black insects rattled their [grating] mating song midst the night air as Javik stalked up a slipping dune. The teeth and talons that stalked these ancient halls at night held no fear for the prothean [longed for something to rip and rend]. Likely it was beneath him [according to her], to seek gratuitous battle [violence] to fill his fear, but he [strictly] did not care.

[He cared that if he slid careful hands over a certain rock, a certain carving or sculpture, her delight and pride could still be drawn from the sleeping stone] [they were fading to fast though] [with each day she was increasingly gone]. 

Some nights, Javik simply stood and stared at the sullen stars and cursed that she’d ever come to find him.

Ten days since she had left [already], and the fierce fighting in his chest had not abated an inch. He’d sob [all this damned sentiment], but Javik feared that he’d be lost to it [the despair] entirely. Liara was no longer there [by his side] to piece together the puzzle. When had she become so essential?

[was he not a soldier?] [you are a soldier].

“Back again, prothean?”

Javik did not twitch at the gravelled voice the wandered out from the deep shadow of the ruined temple. The wall of force around the female Shaman had proceeded her [where Wrex was a hammer] [she was a mountain]. 

First-Mother, her people called her. Blood-of-the-Womb and Egg-Maker. Eve. Those of the krogan with particularly [pitifully] simple minds whispered revered names to her, which she in turn hoarded and harnessed with an almost prothean cunning.

Of all the inhabitants of this cycle, Javik had found her most challenging to read [but not comprehend]. If he had respect for the krogan female [he did], it was wary.

Nostrils flaring, Javik breathed deep [tried not to lash out] [so close to blind rage he remained] at Eve’s approach. He did not deign to greet her; Javik tracked the silent sway of space instead.

“You males are painfully predictable at times,” Eve grumbled at his elbow [light footed and fleet midst the desert sand].

Indignation pierced Javik’s pride [such as it remained], and his face jerked to glare at the krogan interloper that had interrupted his melancholy.

“What do you intend to imply, Shaman?” His words hissed over sharp teeth. 

The krogan released a breath [a huff] [a laugh or sigh] and shrugged her heavy robes.

“That you are quick to despair when the future you believed you are owed is snatched away,” she replied, unconcerned [or oblivious] to his ire. “Quickly too did the krogan fall to such rage after the genophage.” 

As if it were comparable [as if it wasn’t].

The universe was cyclical, even without the Reapers. He hated that. 

“That is no great revelation,” he said instead.

“No,” agreed the Shaman, steady as stone [amused at his stubbornness]. “But sometimes the greatest advice is the simple truth already known.” 

Javik curled his lips and let disdain [denial] ring the glare he sent her way. Victory had called him the last voice of his people, who was left to care if all that surmounted to was an angry wail? His failings [as a prothean] [as a soldier] [as a comrade] [a friend] were of no mystery to him.

“I do not need your prattling lectures.” A bitter tang rang off his tongue; the krogan female was not the asari. Regret [at the thought] painted the lines of his face, [wept] from the sense nodes on his head, back and wrists [at her absence]. 

Javik had no patience for a sermon [from a stranger], no matter how stern and sturdy her foundations [the wisdom of loss in her hearts]. 

“Then how about my understanding?”

“What could you possibly understand about me?” Javik snarled reflexively [anger was easy for him] [comfortable].

“That you grieve, prothean,” replied Eve, orange eyes bright and burning. “As I have grieved.”

[Damn her] [damn him].

It was easier to cast his vulnerabilities [hurt] as a void [insurmountable and all-consuming]. To believe that it was untouchable in it [regardless that Liara had already breached it]. Not all those in this cycle were young and fragile [hard to remember] [to comprehend].

So, Javik bit his tongue and clenched his fists and waited for whatever words the krogan Shaman thought to cast into his shadow.

She [Eve], at least, was un-phased by his [increasingly] volatile mood. Only grunted at his grousing, and lifted the heavy hood of her garment to gaze up at those [cold] stars too.

“My people became lawless and careless and fearless because there was nothing left to lose,” she rumbled [like a rock fall] [like the crease of time]. “It is only when we have something to fight for that we become afraid. And you are afraid, prothean. All the skill and discipline of your Empire cannot give you the peace you seek in this new age.”

Somewhere in the ill-lit desert of Tuchanka, a varren pack howled and a thresher-maw wailed in discontent. A lonely corner of space held what [melted little] remained of the Reaper corpses [blasted with nuclear power]. Far away on the Peltro Ria lay the unmarked graves of his [long gone] comrades [un-honoured and un-mourned for] [save by him]. 

In some [other] system, a nameless ship carried Liara T’soni [far away from him] to her [foolish] [self-styled] crucible.

Peace, he scorned, was an empty word for stagnation.

[I can’t help but think that all I’ve done since the War is…tear things down]

He scorned!

“Do the krogan seek peace, then?” Javik asked the night.

“For the krogan, peace is a victory. It is a chance at change,” Eve sighed, thick hands clasped together [as if in prayer] [in thanks]. “We’ve learnt to take our victories where we can.”

“Change is rarely kind,” he said [mostly] out of spite.

“But we have hope now.”

“Bah!”

The Shaman chuckled at that, full bellied and loud [and unworried]. His teeth clacked and his frustration boiled the biotics under his skin. Javik had no empire, could not he at least have dignity [solitude] [Liara]?

“Have you not had hope, or should I word it elsewise?” Eve said slyly [knowing] [satisfied], and it galled him to be wound up [provoked] [laid bare] so easily. Her words made him wince [like stitches torn]. “A vision of victory? A dream of quiet. Yet I see you here now, roiling in your discontent. Was the asari your hope for a future?”

[no] [yes].

Javik clenched his jaw and looked away. A soldier should need no such comforting [consolation]. She [Liara] was a comrade, nothing else, and easily forgotten and replaced [and now he was a liar] [a bad one].

What had she been; a saviour [a tight grip under the burning sun] [hurt and hot and holding him]? A friend [dragged from mission to mission to keep him occupied]?

“Something unrealised then,” Eve understood when the scream and stream of thoughts in his mind could not wind themselves into coherency. 

All Javik could do was nod sharply [jagged spike in his throat] [prickled burns under his eyes] [for where was the lie?].

“And now she is locked away, how are you to discover the potential of the future you saw with her?”

“I did not-“

[could not] [did not know how].

But the krogan Shaman cared not for his uncertainties; had cut through them like silk paper. All of his anger [fear] at himself [at being abandoned] welled up around her words. No matter the bone weary weights that drew down his fire.

But it did matter, and Javik found his rage lost and alone in the shadow of her [Eve] [Shaman] mountain.

“You have pictured none else?” There was no scorn in her tone, only pity [infinitely worse] [Liara had never pitied him]. “Acknowledge then, that your hope rested on her, and act so as to ensure it.”

He seethed [bitter] [black] [bloated on self-pity], in the thick night of Tuchanka.

But he also listened.

.

.

**46.**

“Get up, T’Soni, you have a visitor.”

Liara looked up as the heavy door unshackled itself. She flinched at the two guards who crowded the doorway, batons bared, but they did not take a step in.

An awkward disquiet hung over her captors, only increasing over the past week. If Liara welcomed the change from the heavy handed discomfort of traditional inmate harassment, it was a bitter triumph.

Fear was never something she had wanted to inspire.

Still, with her good hand she brushed off the orange and white shoulders of her jumpsuit. Pulled up the collar. Her lawyer had visited yesterday, tight-lipped and righteous. Liara’s instincts had whispered there was more to his taut mouth and skittish gaze than her supposed trouble-making. Surely it was too soon to warrant another visit?

Else they had forgiven Aethyta her angry outburst and lifted the visiting ban.

 _My poor father,_ Liara grieved; cut off from her one surviving daughter who’d thrown herself into a viper’s pit, and now without any ability to aid her. 

Rising as gracefully as her body would grant, Liara made no noise as the guards cuffed her wrists and ankles and shoved her as brusquely as bravery allowed them. Her hands clenched and ready to attack, in whatever limited capacity, just in case.

It was only when they reached the Meeting Room, and the asari was shoved at a small booth that beckoned, that her eyes fluttered up to meet those of her mysterious guest.

“Oh, Javik,” she breathed, chest constricted with a snap and skin burning just to look at him.

“Liara T’soni,” the timbre of his voice sent a prickle from crest to spine.

Were his eyes always so bright? Liara blinked back the heat in her own. A pale scar ran through the lines of Javik’s carapace and over his two right eyes. A memento from Imorkan, but it seemed to have healed well, and though he looked lean, he did not look starved.

Was he still based on Tuchanka? How he came to be before her, in the deepest prison on Victory Station, the new heart of the galaxy? It seemed a conjured whimsy. Was he eating well?

But no, his displeasure was real. Her awe did not blind her to the way all four eyes searched her own, only to skit to the side of her cheek and jaw and drag down to her throat. The way his thin lips twisted, red stripe darkening as his wide gaze narrowed. Self-consciousness hiccupped her daze.

With a shaking hand, Liara tugged her collar up higher. He shouldn’t see that. Did not need to worry. 

Still, Javik’s posture had rippled and riled, and her throat hurt from the things she could not yet speak of.

“It’s nothing,” Liara managed to say, cursing as her voice cracked. “A minor incident.”

“Those are not the wounds of a minor incident,” Javik said slowly. His eyes had not left the ring of welts around her throat, and Liara swallowed as her chained hands rose again to hide the marks.

Of course, the movement caught note. His attention zeroed onto the thick, white brace that bound her hand. Damn his perception. Faltering, she tucked it under the bench and out of sight.

A long, laden silence stretched between them. What could she say that he would not already have surmised? That another attempt had been made on her life was only so noteworthy because she was seemingly complying with the wishes of her detractors. 

Honestly, Liara had expected it sooner. Six months had to be some kind of record.

“The guard said you have been in solitary confinement,” Javik noted when the silence had lingered long past its welcome.

How she had missed his sternness, his solid weight a counter to the world. Long, lonely days with none but her guards for company had worn her like thin ice. Liara dipped her chin in shy agreement, picking at the brace on her injured hand.

“Again, yes.”

“Then you do not know.”

“What?”

Her lips parted as Liara snapped her face up to Javik’s still, intent expression. 

“Four days past,” he began, teeth cutting against his tongue like an obvious answer. Her breath stilled. “Three Justicar’s stormed the Atamna during one of your archaic rituals and executed five of them. The remainder are in custody, and have confessed to a number of galactic crimes.”

Terror lanced through her veins like shards of ice. Or perhaps it was euphoria? It made her gape, wordless and in wonder and fear. It made her want to laugh. Or weep.

How? The Justicars?

Liara had not even fathomed that the remainder of that ancient order would involve themselves in the hornet’s nest she had kicked. For all their devotion, those asari knight-errant’s were renowned for avoiding the political power struggles of Thessia; the Oaths of Subsumation forbade it.

How then? It seemed impossible. What had called to their sense of justice so? Liara’s hands shook. Her whole body shook.

“Oh!” Her teeth chattered. “Um-oh…”

Curling her good arm around her chest, Liara tried to beat back the waves of discordant feeling that crashed about her. That the Atamna, those revered Matriarchs who had hidden so much from behind Athame’s veil, were felled in a single stroke seemed wrong. A lie. A joke.

“Asari?”

Shaking her head, Liara struggled to install some semblance of composure in her complexion. If failed as her breath failed. All at once her lungs were broken and her heart was quailing and her head was cackling manically. 

“Liara!”

He’d slammed his hands on the table and half risen, and Liara jolted back from the booth with rattling chains. Javik bared his teeth while she blinked rapidly, panting short and sharp. It was not aggression on his face though; the lines around his nasal ridge had tightened and his fingers pressed pale against the table. 

“I just…it’s nothing,” she stuttered, arms still wrapped around herself. “A-apologies. I…”

Her ribs ached as she forced them into working, trying to hold back the sob behind her teeth. The guards that had started forward now retreated under Javik’s glare.

So easily startled, was she now. Trapped behind walls filled with tech and shields and biotic dampeners, Liara was falling in on herself. Surely Javik was mistaken? Surely the Matriarchs weren’t dead or imprisoned?

She had not wanted that. Had never wanted that.

“S-sorry,” she mumbled, when the air in her throat eased in passing. Her fingers clenched tight into her jump-suit. “It just seems so improbable. I…apologies.” 

“You do not believe me,” Javik stated, tracking the jittered movements of her agitation.

“No, it’s just…”

But Javik had already drawn out his omni-tool, bringing a screen and a news clip and bared his arm for her to see. A human correspondent addressed the camera from outside what looked like Armali.

_“Confusion still runs rife on Thessia as those prominent figures apprehended by Justicars earlier this week, some say the highest tiered of asari society, have agreed to give full, undisclosed testimony regarding what has become known as the Siari Scandle.”_

_“Now, many are wondering what exactly these confessions allude too. There is a lot of speculation that they involve the accusations levelled by Doctor Liara T’Soni and her supporters. I remind you that Doctor T’Soni remains in Council custody, there’s no indication yet that she had any involvement with the Justicars.”_

_“Newly elected asari councillor Irissa has claimed that careful consideration will be put into how exactly the Council will deal with not just the Matriarchs, but also Justicar involvement, and the charges of treason levelled against Doctor T’Soni and a number of her followers.”_

It was only when her nose bumped against the glass screen that separated them did Liara realise how far forward she leant. Oh, to have access to the extranet again, or even a news channel; she’d been cut off from the galaxy for so long.

Pressing her lips together, Liara tersely eased away from the yellow glow of Javik’s omni-tool. There were but a handful of Justicars left; what had driven them to be involved with something so potentially disastrous? An old arm of asari society snapping off another seemed bent for mutual destruction.

A twinge flared in her damaged wrist. Liara breathed and tried to loosen the tightly clenched fists on her lap.

Four days. Of course though, and a trickle of panic reared its ugly head, of course the Atamna had a contingency plan. The turian guard who’d tried to murder her must have had directives to act should anything befall his employers.

It brought a sour taste to her tongue; such petty vindictiveness from the pinnacles of asari society. They were meant to be better.

What would Benezia have made of it, Liara wondered sourly?

She’d wanted the asari to reshape themselves, through their own choices and sense of justice. Not to be browbeaten into change.

“Thank you,” Liara managed to whisper, eyes down cast. “No one thought to inform me.”

“I surmised as much,” and there was a note in his voice that made her glance up. Javik was watchful, worried. Too many months separated them. For all Liara had tortured herself with visions of his anger in her long, lonely solitude, jagged concern threw her.

“Javik,” she said, uncurling her good arm to reach for him. Forgetting too late that glass lay between them. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and his seating shifted.

“Visiting time’s over,” belted out the watching supervisor, and Liara could only whisper regret over her shoulder as they led her away.

.

.

**47.**

When [at last] the verdict came down exonerating Doctor Liara T’Soni from numerous charges of theft of Asari Republic property, violations of the Shastessia Act [unknown but unsurprising] through unauthorised communication of global secrets with non-asari authorities and wilful defiance and active undermining of tier three Matriarchs, every [eager] spectator in the Victory courtroom stood to their feet and cheered.

Javik did not know how to deal with the slabs of [raw] elation that bounced off the court room walls. Beside him, the quarian [Tali’Zorah vas Normandy] [or was it Rannoch now] bounced in her seat and yelped in victory [loud and loving in her enthusiasm] [old and familiar, yet distant]. The jury, [argumentative] representatives from every [primitive] council race, congratulated each other as the Council [asari, salarian, human, turian, krogan] looked on with reserved [self-important] pleasure.

From her seat in the stand, Liara T’Soni stared at her [still shackled] hands, narrow shoulders stiff with surprise. From the stands, Javik wished he were closer so as better to understand her shock [shield her from scrutiny]. Any notion to approach was, however, interrupted when Matriarch [former councillor] [paternal figure] Aethyta leapt down [with biotic blue] from the gallery to sweep her [vindicated] daughter up in a fierce embrace [did not need to be near to feel it] [for that he was glad].

The [inadequate] V-Sec officers on duty did not like that, but they settled down with a hand wave from the [new] [smug] asari councillor. Camera flashes lit the courtroom as every journalist tried to gain an edge on each other. Javik shifted, uncomfortable with the elation crowding the room; it made things unpredictable [and dangerous]. 

The asari councillor [Irissa] made a [deliberate] show of tipping her head toward Liara [the cameras loved that]. Acknowledged by a slight nod over a shoulder, her [Liara’s] [blue] [bandaged] hands grasped her father’s back, frail and thin.

A tight grip on his arm startled the prothean out of his watchful [wanting] vigil. The quarian [admiral] [Tali] tugged again, helmet tilted to express her interest.

“C’mon Javik, we should go out back to meet them!”

“Gn,” he objected, but allowed her to drag him away regardless. Tali managed to bypass the frenzied media [thankfully], yapping [like varren] at anyone even slightly associated with T’Soni and the Normandy crew.

“Comes from being a suit-rat,” Tali explained cheerfully when he inquired [praised her], gold details glinting against purple. “Always good to know how to get in and out of a tight fix.”

The backroom suite Javik found himself in was packed with old and new familiar faces. Orianna [fresh faced] [but older] was there, but not the Prodigal [her sister], talking to the human pilot [Cortez] and the spectre [Williams]. Urdnot Grunt bellowed in a corner, a small krogan and human youth crawling over him as [a pleased] Vakarian and a [cautious] younger turian [female] watched on in amusement. 

He was glad [relieved] that the Justicar [Samara] [old and close in her sorrow] was not present. They had shared too much too quickly to [ever] be at ease with each other. For all that it had been necessary.

Tali [as unconcerned with propriety as ever] dragged him over to Doctor Chakwas, an unknown human female and something that looked suspiciously like a geth [sleek and silent and smooth].

“Look who I found!” Tali exclaimed with glee [his mouth dipped in displeasure]. “Chakwas, you know, and this is Kelly Chambers. And Progeny, one of the first Geth 0.2 series to leave Rannoch.”

“Greetings, Creator Tali Zorah and associate.”

“Doctor,” Javik replied stiffly, and resisted the [instinctive] [insistent] urge to throttle the [abomination that was the] geth. He did not miss [or welcome] the appreciative look over [curious and carnal] the younger human female curled his way. 

“Javik,” greeted Chakwas warmly [more crinkles under her eyes] [assessing his condition] [ever the physician]. “It is good to see you are well.”

He nodded.

All further communication was cut off as a resounding cheer erupted from the room [jumped his bones] [reached for a rifle]. From the slick doorway, Shepard emerged [weight heavy on a cane] [scars still stark] arm in arm with Liara and her father. His heartbeats quickened at her [the asari] flushed face and tentative smile.

Whilst others rushed forward, Javik held back [from uncertainty or surreally] [what was he now].

He watched her embrace Shepard and Aethyta fully, before stepping away to greet the rest of her associates [friends]. The humans [Williams] [Chakwas] held her hands and kissed her cheek. Alarming, if only for the intimacy the act implied [for a prothean] [this was a new cycle]. The quarian could barely cease bouncing on her toes, whereas Vakarian [shepherding along his young] warmly grasped her shoulder and made introductions. 

The young, angry [though not so much now] krogan [Grunt] enveloped her in bear hug that lifted the asari right off her feet. Javik had to bite down his alarm [and a worm of pressure in his gut] [a new feeling].

There was a lot of laughter [expected], and a lot of crying [embarrassing]. Javik only just kept up processing the emotion of it all [sorting out his own].

Then, somehow, she [Liara] stood before him [not too close] [not too far]. The bruises on her face had mostly healed [only a sickly green remained] [too much, too much], though her arm was still bound. But her eyes were bright [clear and blue] and he found himself drawn toward her.

“You came,” she smiled.

“Of course.”

That made her cheeks darken, and he was thrown by the strong affection and relief that swirled around her [the pounding in his chest]. 

“May I?”

And he was so lost to the sensation of standing near her again [unhindered by glass or guards or fear], that Javik nodded before he understood what he’d given permission for.

It was a light thing, a gentle one. Liara stepped close and rose on her toes and pressed her dark lips against his cheek. It was warm and close and shocking bold [or not so]. Culture battled with knowledge [the connotations differed] [cease the surging heat]. 

Yet, for a moment her mouth brushed his skin and the flush of her scent suffocated him [myha, salt and stone], lit by the underflow of her roiling emotions [his own] and he could not move. Not even to hold her [away] [closer].

[did not want to move].

After a [too brief] moment, Liara pulled away, and Javik could only marvel at her shy smile and odd nose and bright [bright] eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, and he had enough sense to incline his head in acknowledgement [and not ask what for] before she was whisked away by some other associate. 

Javik felt her absence keenly [wholly]. He only realised he was staring after her [like a witless fool] when the quarian elbowed his side [surprisingly sharp] and grasped her helmet in delighted enthusiasm.

.

.

**48.**

Grunt had gifted her blue flowers. He’d gruffly commended her recent victory, told her he liked her eyes and offered his gun if she ever needed some extra firepower before trundling off to the rest of the party.

“He’s been nursing that crush since we found you on Nos Astra,” Shepard had laughed, somehow managing a wink even with an eyepatch. Liara had sighed dramatically, as if unwanted suitors were a common nuisance and promised to let him down gently.

Still, they were beautiful; lapis petals with a pearly centre. Marvelling at the silken touch, she idly wondered where the proud krogan had found them on Victory Station.

The Shepard-Vakarian apartment on Victory was, if anything, more spacious than Anderson’s had been on Citadel. Liara almost got lost finding a vase and the kitchen. 

It was strange to be surrounded again by friends; long months in solitary had whittled away at her psyche with doubts and recrimination and accusation. Maybe she ought to be overwhelmed, but there was life about her, and people who loved her. It made her throat hitch.

Cutting of the streaming water from a tap, Liara arranged the bouquet to distract her sentiment.

Someone stepped into the kitchen behind her, and Liara turned only blanch.

“Justicar!” She exclaimed, alarm flaring at the crimson armour. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Form the doorway, Justicar Samara smiled serenely; pale eyes like twin moons as she offered up open palms. 

“Be at ease, Doctor,” the older asari assured. “I’m not here to take account of your crimes.”

Liara blushed, but did not object. Information Brokers walked a thin line of legality in certain parts of space. The Shadow Broker more-so. Reminding herself to breathe, Liara set the vase of flowers up on the kitchen counter, acutely aware that she’d left her back open to one of the deadliest warriors in the galaxy.

“I am emphatically relieved to hear that,” she replied, taming her jittering nerves to composure. None would try to kill her here. “I suppose I should be offering you thanks.”

“There is no need,” said Samara “We did not march on the Atamna for you.”

She paused; without a doubt the Justicar’s had believed in their cause. To challenge their oaths so as to confront the pinnacles of asari society and power for anything else was incomprehensible.

“That has puzzled me, I admit,” Liara said at last, turning to lean on the counter and study the inscrutable asari before her. The trial and her incarceration had given her much time to ponder the unfolding of events. “How your conviction became so complete. This could be the death knell for the Order, considering.” 

Samara’s red painted lips twitched.

“I was presented with irrefutable evidence of evils that had been done without consequence to those who had only sought the truth.”

As ambiguous an answer as Liara had expected. One did not divulge sources so easily. Still, the Justicar’s eyes were kind in their depth.

She touched the tip of her tongue to her top lip, wondering how to phrase her query.

“You are not seeking answers to anything you do not already know,” Samara said gently, in the lingering pause.

Liara blushed again and looked away. Was she so transparent? The kiss she’d given him had been no more or less than any affection shown to her friends. He’d been so tense, though, so shocked when she’d pulled away. So hesitant to look her in the eye.

“I’m a researcher,” she explained. Folding her arms, Liara cleared her throat brusquely. “Surely you cannot expect me to present my findings without confirming my theories?”

“No, I suppose not,” chuckled the Matriarch into her fingers. Her gaze flashed to Liara’s though, and pinned her down completely. “He cares very much for you.”

The air dropped from her lungs. That was as much as a confession as Liara was going to get, she knew. Still, it flooded her with feeling and confusion.

There was only one way that the Justicar Order had gained the irrefutable evidence needed for the conviction to take down the Atamna. It lay in the messed and mangled remains of the prothean VI named Vendetta. Liara had directed innumerable time, effort and resources into developing a program that would allow the data stored there to be viewed by non-protheans. She’d been only partially successful.

To access that data fully required a prothean to sift through the silt left from the Catalyst. For an asari Justicar to comprehend it would have acquired something akin to the Cipher Shepard had received on Feros. Something only imparted by from a prothean via deep mind-meld. 

Javik had only permitted such a connection with Shepard. And perhaps herself, but Liara’s memory of that night on Citadel were hazy.

“I…I know,” Liara admitted, when at last her tongue allowed her to speak. For all their conflict and confusion, there was care there. And loneliness. And all number of unrealised and unformed things. It was enough to make her laugh. 

Samara hummed, unsurprised and calm.

“You are both wound up in all you have suffered,” advised the ancient Justicar. “Be patient, Doctor. It is not easy for an old warrior to love.”

“L-love?” Liara stuttered, but Samara merely raised a brow and left her to her churning thoughts.

When she had quelled her galloping heart and nerves, set sternly her denial, Liara re-joined the festivities. Shepard was cheering as her turian daughter versed Grunt in an arm wrestle. Tali impersonated some air-craft or another and berated Cortez when he could not name it. At the bar, Aethyta made drinks for Orianna Lawson, Chakwas and Ashley.

Her chest hurt when at last she spotted Javik, staring intently at the younger additions to the Shepard-Vakarian brood tussling in the lounge as Garrus gave pointers. Somehow young David had an even younger krogan in a headlock and was dispensing a brotherly noogie. 

“Is this seat taken?”

The way Javik jumped startled her in turn. Garrus audibly guffawed on the adjoining lounge.

Still looking slightly wild, Javik nodded his assent and Liara primly tucked her coat tails as she sat next to him. Their shoulders brushed, and neither looked to the other.

“What happened to your hand?” A small, strong voice piped up, and Liara looked up to see the two youths watching her. “And your face?”

“Krip, you can’t just ask people that!” David groaned, trying unsuccessfully to cover the young krogan’s mouth with his plump hand.

“It’s ok,” Liara said quickly, more than surprised at the giggle that erupted from her throat. Krip broke free from his brother and waddled over. Holding out her braced hand, she let him turn it over. For once, the shadows of the attack did not crawl terror into her heart. “I was hurt a little, that’s all.”

“Does it hurt?” Krip asked, gentle for all his clumsiness. Behind him, Garrus swooped in on his embarrassed brother for a rough hug. Beside her, Javik was a stiff as a breadstick.

“Not so much, anymore.”

Small fingers ran up and down the brace, wide mouth open and perplexed. Liara grinned at his curiosity, the small pebbles of his plating and large, round eyes.

“I’ll kiss it better!” Krip declared proudly all at once, puckering his lips only to slobber all over her fingers before sending up a cheeky grin. “It’s the spit!”

Laughter bubbled out of Liara, she couldn’t help it. It was so far away from everything she’d known since what seemed forever. How much she had missed and given up with her anger? 

Krip bellowed in delight, scampering off into the crowd without a second glance.

“It’s a human thing that caught on,” chuckled Garrus, hand on his knee as he slowly stood. Mandibles flared good-naturedly, he tussled his human son’s hair. “Little terror can’t quite get it right though.”

“He can’t get anything right,” sighed David, with the weariness of a varren wrangler.

“Now, now,” said Garrus, blue eyes searching the room. “He will.”

Both went searching for the errant krogan, leaving Liara and Javik alone on the lounge. Her hand was sticky with saliva, and she wiped as much as she could on her knee. Neither spoke; Liara’s movement brought their shoulders into contact again, and she wondered what she could say to express the scope of her gratitude. 

Melding with a stranger was an act she could not even begin to repay.

But Javik was warm beside her, and his two-toed feet stretched out before them. They had time now, again. Another second chance to break free from the bitterness and terror of the Reapers.

“What is it you plan to do now?” His voice was deep, and precisely polite. Liara sighed, licked her lips and decided to be brave.

“I was thinking,” she began, voice catching as she fiddled with her brace. Studiously Liara avoided looking for Javik’s reaction, though she dearly wanted to. “It is long past overdue that I took you up on writing that book.” 

His sharp inhale was audible, and Liara’s courage faltered.

“Well,” she mumbled. “That is, only if you wish to?”

Behind them, a krogan roar sounded, accompanied by young laughter. Evidently Grunt was a favourite of Shepard’s brood. Javik shifted, and she watched as his knuckles brushed against her thigh. 

“Bah!” He exclaimed suddenly. “And leave you to misrepresent my race with lazy ideologies? Not likely.”

Even as her gaze shot to his and indignation clouded her judgement, a swift smile had stretched over her face. At his flustered eyes and bared teeth, she knew it for acceptance.

“I am not the only one whose vision of the past is coloured by personal bias,” Liara shot right back.

“Really?” Javik asked snidely. “Your hypocrisy would be diverting if it was not so embarrassing.”

“What’s embarrassing is your inability to look beyond your inflated ego!” 

The conversation rather devolved from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the last chapter was a trial to write, this one was a joy. I enjoyed so much of it, especially reuniting a lot of the characters and hinting at what they've been doing. I hope you like it as much as I do!
> 
> A couple of things; the baby asari on Tuchanka is the child of Ereba and Charr. 
> 
> Also, Garrus and Shepard adopted as soon as they had themselves settled. Their brood consist of: Iura, a turian female who was about thirteen/fourteen when adopted. She was on Palaven during the war, and took ages to warm up to Shepard. Currently she's serving the Turian military. David is a human child around twelve in story. He only vaguely remembers the war. Though not named after Anderson, Shep and Garrus decided that his existing name was a sign it was meant to be. Krip is technically a ward of Shepard, and a part of Wrex's push to get krogan out of the mindless violence mindset. He's pretty much a part of the family though.
> 
> This chapter is roughly a decade after the war ended, but I'm keeping things vague. Someday I may write about all the outside stuff I developed for this fic but didn't put in, but we'll see.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Glossary:
> 
> Atamna: Nine Athame high priestesses, considered the wisest and most respectable of Asari Matriarchs. The influence they wield is staggering. The Atamna were the Matriarchs who hid the existence of the Prothean Beacon on Thessia.  
> Chahhu: Asari biotic dance routine.  
> Kamada: Prothean word for the imperial court.  
> Marbar Ya: Prothean word for the carers of young.  
> Shihiid: Prothean word for Martyr  
> Soaxiib: Prothean word for comrade, typically referring to experienced, familiar military teams.  
> Kamen: Quarian word for object


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If I did not know better, asari, I would think you concocted this errand of yours as an excuse to spend time with me.”
> 
> The immediate boiling of her indignation amused the prothean greatly [reassured him]. Liara whirled around to tap an angry finger against his cuirass.
> 
> “Of course,” she said snidely, swaying her head to her oncoming barrage. “I need your superior, prothean opinion on every aspect of my life now. How I ever managed before remains a mystery.”
> 
> Javik exaggerated a solemn sigh. 
> 
> “If only that were true.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for dealing with trauma.

.

.

**49.**

The screech of landing ships blurred in the background [like white noise] as beeps and PA system voices bounced off the docking bay walls. Javik watched each technician and cargo-attendant cagily [each an unknown entity] [bought, sold, who knew], for all that they paid him no mind as they went about their duties.

Javik checked his weapons [again] [like a ritual] as he noted each and every curious stare that lingered on their group.

Further ahead, Liara [prim and proper] stood hand in hand with her former Lieutenant [Aanja].

“I’ll feed the occasional mission your way,” her voice was thick [with loss, relief]. “But the paperwork has gone through; as of today, the Óres runs an exclusive, highly recommended shipping service under your command.”

The older asari snorted with a crooked smile [grip tightening], a sweet fondness and gratitude billowing out to tangle with Liara’s care. 

“Ma’am…” 

“Please, Aanja…or Captain, I suppose I should say,” Liara interrupted [ah] [that bright spark in her eye], shaking the hands she held for emphasis. “You have followed me so well through darker path of the galaxy than I knew. Let me at least to do this.”

“Well,” laughed Aanja breathily. “Only until you have need of us, Ma’am.”

Javik turned away; these were words not meant for him, for all that the asari projected their emotions so haphazardly [as only primitives could].

He’d never been easy around the commandos, no matter their [clear and cut] devotion to Liara [more protective than the inspiration garnered by Shepard] [more structured]. Whether it was for her father or by her own merit had not [greatly] concerned Javik, as long as Liara remained safe and strong. The commandos were a well-worn team [like he’d once commanded] [like he’d once been a part of] and Javik had no interest in winding his way into their comradery.

Still, Liara had an overwhelming regard for them [and worry]. Protectiveness had been burnt into her fabric of her feeling [she wore it like a shield]. He’d noticed [been pierced by] it in the desert on Peltro Ria. 

Running an eye over the bending design of the [old salarian] frigate that had served as the asari’s base of operations for so long, the prothean sucked his teeth. Even now, he could not recall much of his time aboard it; dark, grey walls, sharp tension and long stretches of hazy struggles with despair. Only Liara stood out [her stress] [fear] [anger] [and his for her].

The Óres had been no home to him [not that he’d ever had one]. Yet this new mission [this new directive] made him want to clamber back aboard and shoot away into the next galactic disaster. What was to come [what they set out to do] would likely leave him missing the days running [high stake] missions with a crew of renegade asari revolutionaries.

Things were clearer now [if only a little]. Melding with the Justicar [necessity incarnate had spurred the forced intimacy] had not cast the haze from his thoughts, but it had shortened the shadows. He’d seen so much [she’d seen too much], and their equal losses had cradled [fought, wept, ignored] one another as Javik gave the Justicar the cipher needed to bring down the Atamna [buy Liara’s freedom]. 

Peace. That was something still unknown [uncertain] to him. If only he could keep up.

“You! Don’t think you get away so easily,” a cantankerous shout rose above the [milling bustle] space port, and Javik turned [sleek adrenaline already roused] only to be met by a peeved asari matron. 

Vaalsa swaggered up, violet face markings creased under her dry [blasé] expression. Javik halted, and only flinched a little when she [boldly and inconsiderately] stepped too close into his space. The medic noticed [damn her], and answered with a smirk.

“Yeah, you’re healing up fine,” she drawled, fluttering a hand over her own crest where his scars lay fresh. “Keep up those stretches for your back. It’ll keep you limber.”

“Yes,” Javik grunted [her concern bothered him] [perfunctory as it was] [it ran over old wounds]. 

Vaalsa gave him a look that was supremely unimpressed.

“Always full of charm,” she drawled, leaning back on her heels. “Well, not my problem anymore, thank the Goddess. Now, you take care of Little Mother. Don’t get yourselves killed.”

His teeth clacked at the very suggestion.

“That will not happen.”

“Good,” said Vaalsa, voice crisp and curt [for once] [the swell of old sorrow]. “I’m tired of seeing the young die.”

Javik narrowed his gaze [in suspicion and surprise]; he had not thought himself young for a [very] long time. Too many years as a well-oiled cog in the prothean war machine. Surely the [weary] asari did not have such an advantage of years?

Of course, she must have Liara in mind. And the [deceased] pilot [Dankana] [brimming with passion and conviction]; all the others surely lost to the Reapers. Loss had a way of lingering.

Not for the first time he thanked Shepard’s advice to leave alone the ghosts of the past [hidden in the Echo Shard]. Surely the weight of them would have drowned him [successfully] [to remember it all] [and remember it gone].

[that he was the last voice of his people]. 

Javik left his thoughts at Vaalsa’s silence [her piercing gaze]. This cycle had a way of whittling away the [once iron-clad] discipline in his emotions. They were all so blind, and Javik had no way balance the disparate humours of his mental map. 

Bad enough that one of them had learnt [and a stranger] the inner maze of his person. The thought of any of them [the primitives] assessing him through expression alone [a futile thought] [many of them had] was a thorn in his pride [a disgrace to the Empire]. 

[But there was no Empire] [anymore].

“Fly well,” Javik said instead, pulling away before Vaalsa could draw any more of her unfathomable conclusions [kept close to herself] [still it irked him].

“Don’t get into any more mischief,” the medic replied, before clucking and shrugging carelessly. “Or do. Up to you.”

Javik did not, as a whole, like asari. Sanctimonious and self-righteous, generally, and so sure they had seen it all. But there were a few exceptions.

“You have finished your goodbyes?” He asked, once Captain Aanja had returned to her new ship. Liara kept her face closed [still and silent], tilting her head at the inquiry.

“Yes,” she replied simply, brow dropping as she looked back over the Óres [one last time]. “Have you finished yours?”

“Of course,” scoffed Javik. “I’m more than ready to see the back of that wretched frigate.”

A muscle in her cheek moved [a smile] [a frown], but for all the indignant counters Liara might have thrown his way, she only sent a flickering glance. He watched her spin on a heel [curt and clear] and stride away, and paused only a moment before following.

.

.

**50.**

Liara walked away from a meeting with the head of ExoGeni Corporation’s Paleotechnology Division with assurances that they were very, very keen to take her on board should she be willing to sign over an absurd amount of rights to her research. Beside her, Javik rumbled at the blatant interest of lab technicians that hovered on the peripheries. They’d been fawning over him the moment the attendant had shown them in.

Sighing at the sleek labs and sweeping architecture, Liara bit the inside of her cheek as she contemplated accepting. ExoGeni was well funded and well respected, and supposedly generous enough to turn a blind eye to her particular eccentricities.

Unlikely; the most probable scenario would involve a lot of corporate espionage on both sides and a heavy noose of obligation and legal tape should she prove difficult.

Their attendant led them back to elevator and bowed. Liara only paused half a step before entering. Her disinclination for small spaces was not overt; she’d been mostly fine on the way up. Javik was there too, in all his dissatisfied glory.

Pressing her lips together, Liara thanked the attendant and closed the door before they could enter. She was tired of polite smiles and curiosity.

Folding her arms, Liara let out a breath and tried not to think of four walls bearing in on her.

“The only redeeming feature about that pack of disingenuous varren was the uniformity of their design,” Javik said, lip curled and back straight.

Liara huffed and shifted her step, letting her shoulder brush his to ground her. There was a pressure between her shoulder and over her crest that prickled and poked. Javik paid no mind.

“I’m certain their fine print has fine print,” she granted, squeezing herself as the elevator droned an insipid tune. “ExoGeni is known for tightly controlling the results of their research.”

After the mess on Feros, only a fool would have signed onto ExoGeni without sifting through the contract with a hunter’s eye.

Javik snorted, head turning slightly as he read her agitation.

“Then why did we bother?” He asked.

“It is good to consider all options,” she answered, looking to the floor. A number of her overtures of interest had been met with firm refusal. “Especially in light of our notoriety. Few would welcome me into their organisation without some hesitation.”

Feron had pulled more than a few strings to set up interviews with various companies, universities and various other organisations with known interests in prothean technology.

The fact that she came as a package deal with Javik had certainly not hurt. Still, Liara rather thought that Feron’s help had a particular angle to it that was not entirely selfless.

“They ought to find the advantage in it,” Javik said. He looked so dry and droll, Liara laughed.

“Isn’t that why you have such misgivings about ExoGeni?” She tried not to smile at the light affront that had taken the prothean’s expression. Some of the tension crawling up her back eased. 

It was easier, to know Javik was at her six. His stubbornness was something she could always rely on, even if it infuriated her on occasion. He seemed better too, since they left the Óres. Watchful, yet not so brittle.

Liara had no illusions; this peace they’d found was tenuous. There were still certainly many who wished her death. No Council acquittal would change the deep divide she’d rent in her people. 

Still, asari were painfully fond of the slow, long game. Those who still sought revenge would not act soon. Her fingers wound together, pale scars dotted them from where they’d been crushed between turian teeth. They had a small window by which to grow.

“I believe my…friend had ulterior motives in recommending me to this organisation,” Liara said, to cut off her deepening train of thought. The elevator hummed around; who knew how much they were being monitored. “They surely have a wealth of knowledge at their disposal.”

She felt Javik still deliberately, and when he did not answer, she looked up haltingly to see something like fury crawling through all four of his eyes.

“Javik?”

“Is that what this is for?” His voice was a soft and bladed whisper. It sent her spine cold and her shoulders back.

“What do you mean?” Blinking rapidly, Liara tried to ignore the ripple of warning that ran up over her crest.

His mouth twisted in a grimace before Javik replied.

“Do you intend to write this book, or is it merely a front until you find another such cause to throw your life away for?”

Her mind stuttered at that, at the venom in Javik’s question for all the evenness of his breath. 

“You…” Liara began, wetting her lips as strands of thought whirled to connect in her mind. 

Javik was angry, it read in the taut cut of his torso, the burning gold of his eyes. He’d half turned to face her, readying for a confrontation. Arms loose, Javik’s hands flexed and opened like a spider rearing for attack.

He thought-

And something was cracking. Again. In him, in her; Liara could feel it in the constricting bands of her ribs, the harsh angle of his mouth.

“I have had my fill of your mad schemes and broken promises, asari,” the prothean said, and it was terrible in how he did not step forward, no matter the rage dragging at his words. She felt crowded, challenged at the glint of his teeth and talking and Liara did not know if she could meet it. “Tell me now, so I may spare myself the indignity of your false hope.”

Even as anger bubbled in the pit of her stomach, a wail seeped down the back of her neck to settle at the bottom of her heart.

Was he right? Liara had tried to step back from her Broker activities since leaving Council custody. Hadn’t the nerve or the energy, and Feron had taken it all in stride. They’d sorted things before she’d handed herself in, after all. Feron was used to operating independently and in the dark. 

Liara shook, and the scars on her fingers ached; she’d not lied to him. Had not meant to, and she’d had to go, had to turn herself in to protect him. 

The promised book; it was the fulfilment of an old dream, the return to a simpler occupation. A new start for her and Javik alike, and while Liara certainly had not planned on ceasing her role as the Shadow Broke, she’d not intended to involve it in their work together.

Which was why they were looking for sponsors, she thought distantly even as it hung under her tongue. They would do this by the book. Did he no believe her?

“Is that-“ Liara started, but her throat was tight and stress was dragging at her senses and it seemed so very small in this elevator.

Was he right, though?

“You think I still want to fight,” she strangled out, frown etched over her face and scalp agitated. Not a question, but filled with disbelief and hurt.

Javik bared his teeth and bunched his shoulders, so broad and present. He took up so much room, drowning out everything but him.

“I know you are afraid not to,” he snapped, sparking recognition and anger across his cheeks.

It was hard to breath; there was no room in her lungs and no room in the Goddess damned coffin. He was not moving, but there was no comfort in his presence now. Not now that her wounded mind screamed at her to flee whilst there was nowhere to run.

“Are you talking about me, or yourself?” Liara threw back at him, frozen as the walls pressed against her, as Javik’s storm pressed against her. 

The prothean snarled wordlessly at her accusation. Swept his hand across his body enough to make her flinch, to thump against the closed elevator door.

Her brain frizzled at that; his anger and the elevator ignited her jittering biotics.

The flash jerked them both back.

“No,” she hissed, even as Javik retreated with flinty eyes. Blue sparks still skittered across her knuckles, and Liara fought the screaming in her muscles to lunge at the door, or at him. Instead, she tucked her trembling hands under her armpits and glowered at her companion despite the tremor in her voice. “We’re not doing this here. Not like this.”

They stood there in shock and ire, covered by terse silence, at opposite ends of the elevator.

In, out, Liara counted out her breaths. Measured and controlled them to wrestle her unruly mind back into some kind of functioning order. Thought of Shepard; a white streak in her hair and laugh lines around her remaining eye. Her lopsided smile.

That infernal elevator music continued.

When at last they hit the ground floor, Liara stormed out in a whirl; hitting shoulders and briefcases as she shot straight to the exit. To hell with them all.

The open sky stretched over her in sweet relief; Liara would have wept had she not sworn to be stronger in the darkness of solitary confinement. 

Instead, she made herself study the skyline, draw each building out with her eyes to remind herself of the horizon. Vaalsa had advised on how to cajole her mind out of its terror with what she could see and sense. With softer steps, Liara reached the long stretch of stairs and thanked the Goddess for the wide plazas of Nos Phlous.

Yet it was not enough, not safe enough to still her racing blood. It was foolish to be in the open so, a clear shot for any half decent assassin. 

The internal voice that told her that sounded prothean.

Mouth a thin line, Liara made for the pale, white-leaved trees that lined the staircase. She rested a palm against the smooth bark for steadiness as her body ran dry of its adrenaline rush. Remembered watching the flowering festival with her mother; the curtain of petals, lit by rows of paper lanterns.

Breathe.

A familiar, heavy gait approached from the ExoGeni building.

“T’Soni!“

She grit her teeth and turned to face a stone-faced prothean.

“Goddess, Javik,” Liara ground out with real ire. “The next time you want to pick a fight, can it not be in a cramped, unassailable box with no exit?”

He had enough chagrin to only nod in response, for which Liara was grateful. If he’d tried to scold her, she might have socked him. 

As it was, Javik held his tongue. Wiping a hand over her crest, Liara sighed and stepped back against the tree and keep the beat of her heart even. Sky-cars shot through the space above them in regimented lines. Professionals strode up and down the stairs on lunchbreak.

It was fine. She was fine. It was just a slip up.

Her lungs filled to bursting with air, and released. 

She was fine.

Biting her lip, Liara glanced up; she tracked the angry lines around his eyes and the worried bent of his mouth. Four or so paces away, Javik sneered at the surrounding scenery in a barely concealed attempt to pretend he wasn’t as distraught as her. 

_Have I been so careless,_ Liara wondered. The terms of their relationship were muddy as was, never mind what he needed from her. A friend? A commander? Had Liara inadvertently made him her shield, another diversion to the distress in her heart?

She swiped her nose with her thumb and sniffed. Tried to quell the seething shock that her composure had unravelled so quickly. Lamented that she seemed to always be failing him.

“I apologise,” Liara said breathily, and immediately Javik snapped his attention to her. Curse her caught throat. “I wouldn’t…I did not mean to give the impression that I placed any lesser value on you or your...on our…”

His bottom lip moved, caught on the points of his canines. 

“Then what is your design?” Javik said with empty scorn, gaze brimming with uncertainty and bitterness. It seemed Liara wasn’t the only one struggling with composure. “To satisfy you vanity? Or drag me along like a puppet as before? I would have been better off in the desert.”

Crest burning, Liara lifted her chin and stood tall. 

“No! You don’t get to say that like…like…” Her fists clenched as Liara struggled to direct her anguish. Tried not to think of the husk he’d made of himself with weariness and regret and loneliness. “I didn’t want you to die! Not for any ulterior motive. I couldn’t stand the thought of you-”

“And then you turned your back on me, to walk into the hands of your enemies!” Javik shot back, shoulders curled and palms out. All his sharpness could not hide the hurt that threaded through his tone. “I would write this book with you, asari, and be the last voice of my people. But I would have all of you, not just your pity or idle curiosity.”

Her pulse quickened at her throat, at her temples. The wounds she felt at his words banked against another surge of feeling in her bones. Javik had not stepped forward, eyes hooded with longing and loneliness that she recognised like her own shadow. Liara wanted to breach the distance and let more promises and apologies fall from her mouth and banish the injured fatigue from his long face. 

For all the good they would do; he’d already pointed out how useless her word was.

His chin dipped, and his gaze lowered into something so terribly lost.

“I cannot continue, as we have done,” huffed Javik in his perceived defeat. Resigned and drained.

“I know,” she blurted out, because she did. How many more second chances would she get? To do right by him, by herself. The Broker Network be damned, she was so sick of intrigue. Especially when all it gave her were stones to whet her knives against. 

Her arms came up around herself and Liara held back the sob that pushed against her tongue. Neglect seemed like such a sin in that moment, and tears were of no use to either of them. He wanted all of her, the best she had to give. 

“I…I have done this all wrong,” whispered Liara, and hoped he heard her. 

Liara had wound so much of herself into the tapestry of the Shadow Broker network, she did not know if she could unravel herself entirely. All that control and knowledge and influence spinning from her fingertips. A safety net for her friends. A spider’s web for her foes.

But Javik had asked her to detangle the silk strings she’d woven. Wanted her mind for more than slyness and lies, and Liara would not lose him. Not for something so cold and dark and unforgiving.

“I…I’ll try, Javik,” Liara said at last. She knew better then to promise what she might not be able to give. No matter how much she wanted to.

.

.

**51.**

There was a lot of noise, a lot of people and a lot of space.

Three things that did not bode well for their safety [he was fully armed and armoured] [she wore her civilian suite with nary a pistol]. And they were being watched from all angles, but with the crowd, Javik could not [damned] discern the intent.

Loudspeakers blared rapid beats and whistles as banners and tents littered the wide university greens [spiral towers pierced the sky behind them]. Open-faced youths with clipboards and colourful streamers attempted to cajole those even younger than them into their clubs, as other in pairs or groups perused the entertainments on offer. 

A tall, twisting biotic sculpture stretched up in the central area, where a large asari [dance] troop moved in graceful formation. He [Javik] recognized parts from Liara’s morning routine [had it memorised], but the dancers lacked the forcefulness and purpose of the Chahhu [too immersed in joy]. Especially as their audience seemed inspired to indulge in their own impromptu dancing [no worse than the Commander’s].

They [himself and the asari] had set a slow pace, edging around the orientation celebration that Liara had insisted they attend [kept close to the surrounding portico]. The blades of his back prickled at the proximity of so many people [so much noise], and Javik made sure to glare fiercely at any student who sought to approach them.

Not many did [his snarling was not feigned]. 

A shriek nearby snapped his attention up, but it was only a human dumping a pail of ice [from some kind of competition or game] over his violet asari companion. His knuckles popped [palms empty].

“For a place of learning, there is remarkably little intelligence on display,” Javik said through his teeth, watching as the asari maiden levitated the [laughing] human in retribution [wasteful and careless].

The prothean hadn’t realised he’d stopped until he felt the halt of Liara’s step ahead.

“Open Day is meant to welcome students,” she said evenly [carefully] [like she did everything these days]. “Not frighten them away.”

Costumed figures [buffoons] on stilts loped over the crowds, performing tricks.

“The whole set up is foolish,” he said abruptly, mouth turning downward. “It would take very little effort to lay siege to this place.” 

It was slight, but Liara’s eyes tightened even as the flutter of disquiet rippled over her skin. 

And it was different from before, the slow spiral of desperation between the obscure missions of her revolution [fix this comm-buoy] [guard this speaker] [steal this intel] [protect her] [protect her]. That Liara had been hard and brittle and running on rage so much so he’d looked at her at times and seen a mirror.

Different from the stress of grief and distraction on Operation Osiris. The pillar of hope in the wreckage of the Normandy; the clear cut ferocity of war. The clouded panic at ExoGeni.

[where was she now?]

“As you said, it was designed as a place of learning,” Liara replied, face turned away to study the dancers before continuing on. “Not war.”

Javik snorted, and followed after her. 

“Nonetheless,” he continued over her shoulder [hated the way her shoulders tensed at the sound of his voice]. “Excessively open plaza’s with little to no cover. Architecture that cannot be altered easily to form a barricade.” 

An asari maiden struggling to carry rolled tarpaulin and poles staggered too close, and his whole torso twitched and flared. She skittered away swiftly enough. He was not satisfied [wanted them all gone] [or to be away]. 

“And they have no spine,” Javik spat.

Frustration yellowed about her crest and hands, and he was [selfishly but so sweetly] gratified to finally provoke a reaction [more than guilt] from her.

[he refused to dwell on the reasons why].

“You,” hissed Liara out the side of her mouth, “are a six foot monstrosity armed to the teeth. There are meant to be no weapons on campus!”

Her indignation was welcome [a relief] [to know she could still rise above her malaise]. Too readily he recalled the grey veil that dulled the world and all attachment to it [feared it falling over her]. Javik huffed, and with a short sweep of his hand, knocked on her arm with his knuckles.

“And that kinetic barrier so cleverly woven into your omni-tool is a fashion statement?” 

Liara jerked her arm away [like a marionette]. The flush of colour that darkened her cheeks made his lips bend upwards.

“It’s a shield,” Liara said incensed, eyes averted even as she leant closer [he struggled not to follow]. “Not an assault rifle!”

“Consider it a pre-emptive shield,” Javik said slyly [breath brushing her temple], relishing her [familiar] scowl. “None have objected yet.”

The [frightened] wary looks he’d received were no mystery; most assumed Javik was acting as a bodyguard rather than a consultant [a mistruth not to be corrected]. It was an easy mindset by which to navigate a life without war. Besides assisting the asari in her research, Javik knew little of what role he now held [tried not to think of it] [was only glad that now they were acting to begin]. 

Liara had made some soft suggestion of study, but such an endeavour seem a wasted effort. Was he not already far superior in his learning [a hopeless endevour to undo a lifetime of stricture]?

“They might,” Liara replied stiffly, and Javik followed her gaze to [yet another] an open courtyard with two opposing podiums and the fierce dialogue that raged upon them. 

A sizable [and invested] audience clustered around the avid speakers. Many were humming opinions in their own heads, and there seemed to be a roster system by which newcomers could step into the debate. [futile and foolish], though it was orderly for the most part. Occasionally an [increasingly] rowdy cheer broke through the rhetoric of the passionate speakers. 

Javik sharply scanned the banners hanging behind the podiums, the pacing of the moderator [tension rose again from Liara’s shoulders] [in turn rose his].

“The asari do love to debate,” she muttered [sour and sore], and he pieced enough of it together to gather the topic [that inspired such fervour] was the validity of exempting Liara T’Soni from the charge of treason. 

A hot bolt dropped from his throat to his stomach, and Javik blinked to find he’d stepped in forward [in front] [to hide her]. Liara’s eyes were wide and electric blue [a soft gasp on her tongue] where she stared up at him, and Javik bared his teeth [at the pit of vipers they’d near approached].

“We should leave,” he said [potential threat clear].

Liara shook her head.

“It’s hardly surprising,” she assured him [too careful and gentle], the corner of her mouth twitching. “Nor should it be worrying. I’d be more concerned if the University of Metharme decreed it a banned topic.”

“Spare me the reel on asari civil liberties,” retorted Javik, watching as her eyes skittered over his shoulders and to the spectacle behind him. “Miscreants readily gather together with like of mind.”

“Debates on my supposed villainy are hardly uncommon,” Liara refuted, shrugging, and he did not care for the deprecation that crept into her tone. “At least this one doesn’t have an effigy.”

He blinked [taken aback].

“Of you?”

“It was in Arthana, on Thessia,” she said with a [visible] wince [a shiver of alarm ran over her arms]. “I am not well liked there.”

[he hated that she kept such things hidden] [from him].

A cheer erupted from the crowd that set his teeth on edge and made his fingers clench [they should get to cover] [she should get some armour]. Liara caught the arm that went up [automatically] for his rifle and tugged it down.

“You are not well liked here,” Javik growled at the contact [that she knew him so well] [her hand withdrew quickly]. 

Lips pressed together, the asari gave him a blank glance and moved away [out of the protection of his shadow]. Javik aborted the instinctual motion to drag her back behind him.

“Well, I am optimistic,” she huffed to herself. One last look over her shoulder lingered on the [fiercely escalating] debate. “The crowd seems to be fifty-fifty.”

An indiscernible emotion slid over her skin, and Javik wondered how much the hate dragged her down. Wondered if she’d learned that blasé, brash mask from the Commander. Still, there was a bounce to her step [that sang of defiance] that made him doubt if either of them could ever [truly] cease fighting against the galaxy.

.

.

**52.**

It wasn’t often that Liara was driven from her bed with fear. 

A thin, hard pressure snapped over her throat, and despite her grappling hands, pulled down like an iron band. Her breath, her life, were trapped by the unflinching garrotte biting her neck.

Pulse galloping, Liara woke with a shuddering breath and fingers clawing at her throat. Stumbling out of bed, she swung around to sight the attacker, biotic already humming. 

But no, that had been the dream. All that met her were shadows and an empty fish tank.

Sucking her teeth, she shook out her hands and rubbed her shoulders. Despite the cool, Illium night and her light sleepwear, sweat coated Liara’s skin thick. There was no sound other than her frantic breath.

“Goddess,” she sobbed. 

The panicked dreams, she’d become used too. Frankly, the singular quality of no longer being locked up in the tiny cell where some corrupt guard had tried to throttle her vastly improved her sleeping habits. A pistol by her bed and unhindered biotics at her fingers helped fight the fierce bursts of anxiety that so often chased her from sleep. There were still nights, though, that returned her to that point of dread.

Tonight, though, the air felt too close and anxiety prickled over her skin, and she did not want to spend another moment in the empty room.

Moving softly, Liara descended the stairs of her partially renovated apartment in Nos Phlous. The windows were now blast-proof and the kinetic barriers had some specialised quarian tweaking to improve their strength. Still, she found herself scouting the view for ominous silhouettes. 

Liara didn’t bother with lighting; that felt too loud and open as she padded into the bare kitchen. The fridge light glowed stark against her skin, the chill prickling like fyaer stems. Pulling out a glass pitcher filled with water, Liara turned in search of a glass.

Something shifted in the shadow of the stairwell; a gleam of armour and a long barrel of a rifle. Shock sent Liara a step back even as the figure moved and she threw up her hands to let the pitcher fall, cracking like a gunshot as it smashed on the floor.

No time to even raise her shields before something large and heavy slammed into her. The wind was knocked from her lungs as her back hit the floor; blood, water and glass made everything slippery and sharp. But she was too close; they were too close and her pupils dilated and her chest constricted and it was the same, the same.

_Nonononononono-_

Limbs flailing and blood screaming, Liara thrust a palm to her attacker’s face. The angle was off, clumsy, with the scrape of teeth against her hand. They grunted, and she tried to twist out of the vice like grip to keep her hand free. 

No help coming; was Javik dead? A garrotte and a cell and no escape and it was all happening again.

It was no use; her other arm and torso were trapped by the intruder’s bulk, and fear clogged her throat so she could not even scream. The edges of his armour bit and bruised her flesh. Her fingers sought his eyes. It was too dark, too dark; Liara had to get him off.

_Goddess!_

“Asari, stay down!”

He’d caught her free hand, but in the struggle she’d managed to squirm her hips aside. A rough hand caught her face and tried to press her to the tiled floor. Throwing her weight askew, Liara slammed a knee into the attacker’s side and as he curled away she kicked his thigh.

His growl of pain reverberated through his chest to hers, long hands holding her head and shoulder. Her own hands scrabbled at the slick floor for anything. Broken shards of the pitcher cut at her skin, so she bit his palm and shoved a fistful of glass into his face.

The responding snarl lit terror in her bones, and as he coiled back in pain, Liara slapped his sides in desperate search for a second gun strapped to his waist.

She found it. She kicked him again and kicked free, scrabbling back until her back hit the counter. Swept up the pistol just as he looked up and she would not let scum like this steal her life so and-

Four pale yellow eyes looked up and froze on her and her trigger finger stopped rigid still. The pistol muzzle wavered as Liara tried to suck in air.

“S-stay back!” Chest heaving, throat dry as recognition fought furiously with terror. “J-Jav-?”

It was amazing how her tongue could not even roll around his name. More amazing how quickly his face had fallen from determination to dread to dead.

Neither moved. The open fridge cast loud shadows over his features. Liara couldn’t…

She couldn’t.

He’d tackled her? Why? To protect her from the figure? But he had been the figure, and why’d he’d held her down and not throttled her when he’d the chance and-

Blood trickled from tiny cuts on his still face, dark rings under his eyes and Javik had not moved since she’d pulled the pistol and-

Disgust and loathing choked Liara as she realised she still had him at gunpoint. With a wretched gasp, the asari cast the weapon away with a vengeance, already trembling at the way Javik’s eyes had not left hers. It skidded loudly across the tile floor and hit a cupboard door with a loud thunk that neither of them paid mind to.

Some part of her wished it was still in her hand.

 _Javik, it was Javik,_ she tried to remind her fraught self. _He wouldn’t. Hurt you._

Propped up on his elbows, Javik let out a long and winded groan. Yet even drawing himself up sparked alarm through her skin and her feet slid against the floor where she fruitlessly tried to scramble away.

“S-stay back,” screeched Liara, voice hoarse.

Javik stilled.

She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t. 

“What were you _doing_ there?” Her voice sounded strained and frail and Liara hated that. Hated that she was huddled against a counter and bloody across from Javik, who’d saved her and who she’d almost shot.

He didn’t reply at first, mouth moving nothing but empty air.

“Keeping watch.” The look in Javik’s flat eyes was just so tired, so fatalistic and his voice so quiet, a strangled laugh erupted from her throat with breath she did not have to spare.

 _Of course_ he’d been keeping watch. _Of course_ she was plagued with night terrors. 

Of course.

Of course.

Liara hiccupped, held a hand to her face and tried not to snarl. Of course it would come to them inadvertently hurting each other in such a way.

“Liara-” 

“Just…stay back,” she cut him off, shuddering against the cupboard. “I can’t…”

In, out. Try to breath. 

When she finally managed to look back at him, Javik let out a visible exhale. His fingers twitched where they pressed against the slick floor and blinked each set of eyes in succession. 

“I am going to sit up,” he said after a moment.

Liara held back a hiccup and nodded. A pained grunt sounded as Javik rolled his body over and raised himself to his knees. Water painted his armour, and she wondered if he ever took it off anymore. 

“Your face,” she tried to begin, torn by the dark blood blotting his mouth and chin. Javik wiped his face with the back of his hand and shrugged.

“Your hand is in no better condition,” he grunted, nonchalant enough to make her cry. “I thought there was gunfire. You were being very stubborn.”

Like a switch, his words brought to the fore a fierce throbbing from her palm. Vison blurred, Liara looked to where her hands curled like claws hiding behind her thighs. Navy blue beaded along the flesh of one palm, broken by small, glittering fragments of glass.

The sight made her furious. And so, so frightened.

“I thought you were trying to kill me!” 

The light of his eyes dimmed as his posture sunk. Liara winced as her fists clenched involuntarily, breath shaky.

“So I gathered,” sighed Javik, creaking like old wood in the wind as his silhouette swayed sideways to hit the fridge. “You took a lamentably long time to throw me off.”

So insufferable, even after she’d almost shot him. Blinking rapidly, Liara tried not to think of the way the prothean’s expression had softened into acceptance the moment she’d levelled the pistol at him. How he’d given up at the sight of her handing him death.

She was cold, so cold, and still Liara could not quieten her rapid and raw breath.

Could not cope with what she’d almost done. What Javik had almost allowed her to do.

.

.

**53.**

Seasonal high winds howled over the walkways of Nos Phlous [reminding him of another city on another planet in another time]. The wind barriers caught most of it, but every so often a curt burst of air would hare through to leave Javik grimacing.

“We’re almost there,” Liara informed him, bending over a neon green sign post. “It’s that building at the front.”

Javik followed her finger, and found their destination as indistinct and bland as any other in this temperamental city. A small crease bent into Liara’s brow [tightened her eyes], and he wondered at the wash of agitation that flickered over her.

Rolling his shoulders, Javik sent a [well practised and ever ready] sceptical look her way.

“If I did not know better, asari, I would think you concocted this errand of yours as an excuse to spend time with me.”

The immediate boiling of her indignation amused the prothean greatly [reassured him]. Liara whirled around to tap an angry finger against his cuirass.

“Of course,” she said snidely, swaying her head to her oncoming barrage. “I need your superior, prothean opinion on every aspect of my life now. How I ever managed before remains a mystery.”

Javik exaggerated a solemn sigh. 

“If only that were true.”

Liara sniffed and turned her nose away.

All in all not a terrible reaction, though it would take more than hot pincers in all four of his eyes to get Javik to admit it made the tedious trip worth [the work of coming]. That he’d begun monitoring her temper [matching it to his] [trying to find a balance]. Neither of them needed a repeat of the disastrous combination of his paranoia and her terror.

[they had not discussed the night she’d almost killed him] [neither of them had the courage].

“What is this errand you were so insistent to take me on?” He asked after a few paces.

Liara dipped her chin into her scarf almost immediately [warning enough] [for what].

“You’re not going to like it,” she mumbled, clasping her hands together [an obvious tell].

Javik almost missed a step [for the stab of irrationality in his chest], and Liara watched him with careful neutrality. No fear poured off her [only pillows of worry], and Javik bit down on the panic that fought to demand, to know the truth [he trusted her] [was trying to].

When he did not burst into anger, Liara let out a visible sigh and smiled [for all its hesitance]. A heat in his chest pulsed.

“Well,” Liara began slowly [cautiously] [pronouncing each word in itself]. “As a part of my contract with the University, teaching staff who’ve seen combat must attend counselling.” 

[who’s counsel did she need] [for combat] [what on and why] [and what for him]?

Comprehension [of her meaning] [the context] did not come easily to Javik, came through filters and a frown. 

Not a week ago, he and the asari had signed onto the University of Metharme. A research grant that required five years of teaching before endorsing any kind of serious field expedition seemed dubious [and wasteful], but Liara had assured him that it was not unusual. Not that Javik [particularly] cared [annoying as the delay was] [Liara said there was much they could begin on without field work]; the process seemed as [typically] bureaucratic and convoluted as anything else in this cycle. 

But, Liara claimed this was the best [round about] route to intellectually exploring his people’s legacy in a manner worthy of them. In this, he would concede to her opinion.

A slow string of sorrow from around her neck caught his senses, and Javik stared at her to comprehend that this counsel was of a personal, psychological nature.

“I-I thought it best to get over with before term starts,” she stammered through chattering teeth, and Javik remembered Vaalsa’s brash advise and Chakwas’ rebuffed suggestions for help [he did not need their primitive opinions on his state of mind].

Javik was strong [was a soldier]; he’d been built to survive the worst of all wars.

Yet, Liara stood before him with her square shoulders and sad eyes and told him that help was what she needed. Javik knew they weren’t whole [and hale], that they both had scars, but had not they survived so far [had they not endured]?

An age ago, he’d seen soldiers crumble [break] trying to defend the Empire. For those that did, the Maalume were quick to swoop in on the damaged threads of their minds and pull. If a soldier unravelled, they would be taken away to be remade and remoulded [into something of use] [they did not often survive long].

Javik did not want that for her [the hollow eyes] [the mindless drive] [he had forgotten much]. 

Her hands looked dry and pale as she fiddled with her sleeves [a crawling horror creeping down his occiput]. Somehow, they’d both halted again on the busy bridge. Javik licked his teeth.

“Will it…change you much?”

He heard the soft hitch in her breath, saw her slim boots step closer.

“Change me?” Liara asked, concern pushing out to caress him [made him wince].

How to explain?

“Everything had a place in my cycle. A purpose. A bent cog could be hammered back into place,” Javik spoke, voice quieter than he’d ever known [thought] it to be. In his cycle [he knew], he would have been hammered straight many a time [by now]. “The results were effective, but often blunt.”

Reconditioning was brutal [he recalled enough]. A last resort for those who struggled in a [dying] empire that needed all the weapons they could forge [cobble together]. It had been necessary. It had been right, to maintain the will to fight.

“This is not like that,” she said gently, thumb brushing the couter over his elbow [all care and carefulness]. A rare instance of initiated contact [and somehow that was worse]. He kept his eyes on her thumb [safe].

“Your purpose is arbitrary; there is no mould to reshape your image into,” Javik attempted to clarify with his [fumbling] words. The asari was flawed [pride and arrogance and naiveté], but the shape of her mindscape was familiar and known to him and [uniquely] hers. He did not want that to change. “So what then is the point?” 

Javik struggled to hold himself up [honest concern was unfamiliar to him] [dangerous]. If only he could retreat into rage [that would have been easier]. 

“You wanted all of me, the best of me,” Liara explained, and now [at last] he brought his gaze up to meet hers [lifted by surprise] [a knot tugging at his hearts and gut]. “This…therapy is to help me get past that which hinders me.” 

Liara blinked rapidly, and after a moment, withdrew [fear and guilt now spiking through her skin]. She turned away, choked up and ashamed and Javik was struck at how he hated it. 

“I do not wish…” she began, voice thick and heavy as the sweep of her crest ran rigid. “I mean, I almost…”

[Ah].

[the noise, the instinct, the gun] [fear-rimmed eyes and a desperate struggle].

A pressure in his chest surged, and Javik moved to grasp her thin and many fingers [to pull her back] [pull her close]. The contact read him her regret and fear and desire to do better [do better by him, _he deserved so much more than what she could give_ ]. It was frightening and breathtaking, and Javik understood this thing by which she sought to make herself whole [for him] [for them].

He did not even register pressing out with succor and soothing [so long] [so long since he had offered such], until the action had her cool palms pressed close against his own. 

“This…therapy,” Javik spoke the word with as much neutrality [more wariness] than ideal [the concept so strange and gentle]. Her apprehension rolled against him. “Will it help realign your...irregularities?”

A sound torn between a sob and a laugh dashed out from Liara’s throat. Her grip on him tightened as she swayed slightly [buffeted not by wind]. The pull of her hold was an anchor; Javik was old and out of practise, but he tried [he tried] to offer some of the ease they had both been lacking. 

Somewhere along the way [a small voice in his head whispered] [it sounded much like Shepard], the asari had become essential to him [more than].

“Not quite,” Liara answered, the ghost of a smile at the corners of her mouth [oh] [OH]. “More like come to terms with…everything.” 

To sleep again without suspicion, to be without battle drumming in every heartbeat. Those things [ _she shared_ ] [Javik knew] were a part of a distant dream that had been clouded by the long shadow the Reapers had left etched into his [ _her_ ] soul.

Javik thought he understood.

After a moment, Liara [wide eyes] [something bright unfurling within her] understood too.

“You are comforting me!” 

His face distinctively did not heat up at her declaration. 

“I have been remiss,” Javik rumbled [voice deeper than intended] [but for the hard lump in his throat] as her gratitude spun itself around him. He spoke [rambled] [painfully awkward] to ignore the uncertainty drawn forth. “We used those around us to balance and realign our mental disturbances. A soldier’s Soaxiib, for instance, was the collective support network that kept our purpose aligned.” 

The puff of her pleasure at the learning [its effect on him] was in explicable. Javik swallowed, noted how her eyes darted down to his throat to slowly [shyly] rise again. 

“When I first awoke,” continued the [entirely unruffled] prothean. Recalling Shepard’s shock at their first exchange returned some semblance of composure. “It became clear that such communications were considered inappropriate.”

Her hands seemed so warm now, winding around his fingers [is that what they all were for?]. Javik stuttered as a soft sweep of sorrow marred her smile. 

“And so you have been alone, trying to reconcile your trauma with no frame of reference, no support.” It was not a question, rather an epiphany [he felt it]. Liara’s expression became tender and tinged with guilt again, and Javik had no patience for that.

“It was not unheard of. There was protocol,” the prothean hastened to explain [assure]. If Javik had been unbalanced, it was by his own failings [as an avatar] [as a soldier]; he had been conditioned to survive the harshest of circumstance, after all. 

It was [so much] [so different] a lot now, to be standing here with the asari, sharing even this small part of himself [he wanted to pull her closer]. This cycle functioned so differently.

“You primitives,” he murmured [she puffed her cheeks out at that]. “You speak with actions but no connection.”

Her thumbs caressed the backs of his fingers.

“Most races, yes,” Liara said [quiet], shaking her head a little. “For asari, that kind of thing is reserved for more intimate exchanges.”

There was no missing the blush that crept over her freckled cheeks [admired it]. Even with this lesser offering, the prothean could feel the tendrils of her mind reaching out for him [different from the Justicar] [welcome] [and somehow twice as alarming for what lay behind]. 

He was not completely out of touch with current times; it was hard to miss what the galaxy made of asari intimacy [remembered the tasteless scorn of his own brethren]. Javik regretted that now.

A crease deepened in her brow and Liara looked up in sharp consternation; he found himself taken back [breath caught] by the determination in her eyes. 

“I should have realised before,” she began, causing his lips to quirk [already her thoughts looped around] [ _should have been more perceptive, less angry, should have noticed_ ]. It was novel. 

“If you had known, would you have volunteered such a connection, such as things were?” He asked, amused at how each of them would have reacted [to this new familiarity] in the cold bowels of the Normandy SR-2. Not well [certainly not with any kind of grace] [ _no, she agreed_ ].

If he turned his hands in such a way, Javik could brush his fingertips against the soft underside of her wrists [he did so]. 

“I would have had my reservations,” admitted Liara, lashes fluttering at the [sensitive] [he could feel it] contact. The sweet hum of her thoughts pressed against his own.

Tongue on his teeth, Javik did not ask if she still harboured such misgivings. Did not think he could [was so far out of his frame of experience] [so absorbed in the moment] [did not want to leave]. 

Had he stepped closer? They seemed closer [their handhold tightened mutually].

An uneasy flicker danced across her thoughts [wordless] [but full of many things].

He felt the moment Liara pulled back. Felt bereft as she chuckled nervously and leant away [let the air come between their warm bodies]. About them the city still moved and the wind still howled. She didn’t let go, though [her blue hands fit so strangely into his own].

“I should be more considerate,” Liara apologised, blushing again as the connection thinned [he wanted it to stay] [but let it go]. “Asari mind-melds can be somewhat compelling.” 

Javik blinked rapidly [but of course that made sense]. He’d had been lax, thinking that the asari mind was so different that she had not needed support [of the sort he could offer]. 

It had been so long; to feel that connection again [find the balance] had made him careless. For all their similarities, asari were different [felt more] [connected more] [did not meld in half measures].

Surely that was what caught his breath and made her face so captivating to gaze upon [she’d returned the intensity].

[ _still did_ ].

“Do you still intend to go?” Javik asked, voice strained as the two of them both pretended they weren’t still feeling the tail-end of their [mild, it was mild] meld.

[he did not miss her already].

“Yes,” Liara gasped, dark blue cascading over her cheeks to run down her neck and scalp. She licked her lips and Javik could not help but watch. “I-uh booked an appointment for you too, should you wish it.”

That set his shoulders straight and his spine still. Javik would have torn himself from the asari’s grip had she not [cleverly] pre-empted him and clung on tight.

“Listen,” Liara implored, cross again at his stubbornness.

He did not care [he did], but Javik would not open up his weaknesses for some crude counsellor to dig through at their own whimsy.

“I won’t have some primitive poking around my head,” Javik told her, loud enough to make heads turn [like frightened and feeble stock]. “I’m fine.”

[Hah].

Still, though, the line of her mouth stayed stern [his words sounded hollow even to him].

“It’s not-“ Liara huffed [tired and torn] [thumbs pressed into the blades of his hands]. “You don’t have to endure anything you don’t consent to.”

Javik rolled his head back and bared his teeth; would she be seeking this counsel if not required to? It was hard not to read her earnestness [worry] [for all that he felt more together for the first time in years] and not have the recriminations and criticisms of the [mighty] Empire echo in the back of his mind.

Her fine, blue hands slipped [suddenly] from his; leaving his [palms terribly empty] arms heavy where they now hung. 

“There’s no shame in needing help,” she said softly, holding herself as she looked to the city sky line. Javik almost kicked himself [his own reaction had reflected upon her]. “Doctor Kirot is renowned for his successes with combat veterans and survivors of trauma.”

Javik paused [startled].

“That is not an asari name,” he said with slow realisation. Liara’s breath puffed at her chuckle [sly smile returning]. 

“Grant me some credit, Javik. Your attitude toward my people is complicated enough as is.”

He could not say much to that. Grunting, Javik turned his thoughts to what [possible] primitive she had deemed suitable to counsel [mind meddle] him.

A human male, perhaps? They seemed particularly versatile as a race [embedding themselves in every galactic pursuit possible]. Or a salarian; their non-lineal thought processes that adapted [too] quickly would be both a burden and a blessing. Surely this Kirot was not a krogan? 

He must have been frowning [of course he was], for Liara set a hesitant hand on his forearm. When their gaze met, the slight tilt of her head matched the care that curled at her collar bones [worn and wary] [but less brittle now] [already he was pushing out to her].

“I’ll be about an hour,” Liara told him, biting her lip before continuing [Javik blinked]. “Go to the counter if you change your mind.”

“I won’t,” he declared. She rolled her eyes [amused] [disappointed] and turned away [her own fears tucked close]. The wind blew harsh above him [Javik did not need help].

[He did].

He did.

He went.

.

.

**54.**

Two years bludgeoning her way into Illium’s information network had left Liara with a sharp power walk that could cut even the most difficult of her contacts, let alone a theatre full of first year students. She made sure to utilize every last inch of her infamy to leave them in a state of flux. Those that had weathered the lecture conferred with each other in hushed breathlessness, and Liara counted it as mostly a success. 

Three students, all barely younger than herself, had fled when Liara had revealed she knew precisely who had tried to hack her presentation; the fourth stoically remained. She could respect that; very few did not deserve a second chance.

Still, Liara’s senses sung on high alert for retribution as she strode out of the amphitheatre and into the long lined hallways of the university. Goddess knew she was not done with those who wished her ill. 

“Nicely done, bluebird.”

Biotics hummed under her palms, at the ready, but when Liara turned, the broad-faced figure slouched behind a pillar only tipped her head and grinned.

“Father!” Liara laughed as she stepped forward, joy bursting inside her chest. Aethyta met her embrace readily, prosthetic arm a touch lighter and looser than the other. 

“You didn’t seriously think I’d miss your first lecture,” Aethyta said into her shoulder.

Liara tightened her grip; it had been too long since they’d met in person. Newly appointed Councillor Iressa had lost little time in nominating her father as the asari ambassador to Tuchanka, and their timetables rarely matched up.

“I didn’t even know you were on Illium,” exclaimed Liara, wiping her eyes as she pulled back to study the lines around her father’s eyes. Aethyta slipped her a wink.

“Getting a bit sloppy there, love,” admonished the asari Matriarch, using her whole hand pinch Liara’s chin as if she were a child. “I have a trick or two up my remaining sleeve.”

Trying very hard not to pout, Liara sniffed imperiously. Aethyta saw through it, of course, and so repeated the action.

“You might have noticed,” Liara scowled through her smile. “I’ve been distracted ensuring no one tries to sabotage my return to academia.”

Aethyta snorted loudly.

“I did pick up on that,” chuckled her father, linking their arms as they began to walk. “Very nice. Very subtle, I especially liked the implication you’d sic the Shadow Broker on the next hack who disrupted your class.”

There were a few double takes from the students hurrying to their next classes; Aethyta had a distinctive face, and had been a very vocal, volatile Councillor. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Liara noted two older matrons dawdling very specifically behind them, somehow getting in the way of any who sought to stop and ogle. Their dress was casual, for all that their pistols could be seen peeking out from their short-cut jackets. The way the pair moved was with the undoubted fluidity of seasoned commandos.

Well, at least Aethyta’s bodyguards were subtle. The same could not be said for Javik.

Liara ignored the pinprick of worry that supposed that a recent attempt had been made on her father’s life.

“Attempted to disrupt, Father. Please,” Liara said casually, not missing the fact that Aethyta had caught her assessing their shadows. “It was a rather amateur effort.” 

“Hm,” the Matriarch chewed her lip, prosthetic hand twitching against her bicep. “Has it been bad?”

Sombre concern tinged her father’s tone, and Liara was sorry the light of their reunion had been dimmed so swiftly. Sighing, she leant against Aethyta and tried to project her self-assurance. 

“Not worse than I expected,” admitted Liara, hoping to hide the worst of the controversy her employment had inspired. “There was a rather creative omni-art slogan across my office on arrival, but it took little effort to dismantle it.”

Aethyta did not respond immediately, and Liara did not have to guess the expression she now wore. 

“I know you’re a big girl now,” grumbled her father, and Liara could almost feel the spark of her protective ire. “I don’t like hearing it though.”

A twist of guilt broke in her belly; Aethyta’s love had always been a fierce thing, but never stifling. Liara had some small suspicion that she’d inherited much of her temperament from her controversial father then her renowned mother, though Aethyta liked to blame it on the krogan in them. 

“It can be a little unnerving,” Liara admitted, and wasn’t that a funny thing? She’d never have admitted such a failing to Benezia, too afraid of disappointing the gleaming pillar of asari wisdom. 

“Why not call back Aanja and the crew?” Aethyta’s scratchy voice trawled over her distractions. “They can keep an eye out for trouble.”

A smile pulled at Liara’s mouth; last she’d heard from her former lieutenant, the Óres had picked up a profitable contract with an elcor merchant company. 

It was strange though, how little she missed being space-bound. Being midst a tight-knit group had been its own brand of stress, for all the fondness the familiarity had bred. Liara’s actions had come at a high cost for her commandos; she never forgot that.

“I’m trying to put that part of me aside,” she said instead, steering them out of the hallway and into a courtyard. “Having asari commandos shadow me hardly invites the impression that I can stand on my own two feet.”

“Just don’t want you getting shot off them, hon.”

Liara could not argue with that. She patted Aethyta’s arm, and received a pointed, unamused look that spoke essays of why patronising her Matriarch father was neither welcome nor unnoticed. Liara ducked her head to hide a grin, only for Aethyta’s sharp elbow to scold her for think the older asari would miss it.

“It’s not like I’m careless, or defenceless,” insisted Liara over Aethyta’s displeased huff. “And Javik is constantly on the lookout as well.”

“Uh-huh.” A sly, side-long look sought out the heat that suddenly crept over her cheeks.

“We look after one another,” Liara stated, feeling her crest tingle. Really, Aethyta’s amused expression was uncalled for; Javik and her were companions. Maybe friends. 

Bickering friends; a frown pulled at her brow as Liara recalled his earlier ridiculous assertion that the protheans had first considered uplifting the manal (after heavy genetic-engineering, one imagined) when they’d first assessed Thessia. Which was preposterous; the asari had not been so underdeveloped 50,000 years ago. 

Sometimes it was as if he believed her born yesterday. 

“Do you now?” 

“Ah-“ The flush on Liara’s cheeks became hotter, and for all Aethyta’s light teasing, there was a glint of real inquiry in her deep gaze. Which was completely unwarranted. “Not like that!”

Liara was not fond of the whine that pitched her tone. Her father waggled her brows dramatically. She wondered if it was acceptable for a professor to shove a visiting dignitary into a water fountain.

“Hey, I wasn’t suggesting anything!” Aethyta exclaimed, white teeth flashing with her badly restrained laugh as Liara spluttered. 

“T-there’s nothing to suggest,” Liara objected hotly. The Matriarch beside her made a show of studying a rather abstract, rotating sculpture of the twins Shastessia and Medokos that crowned the courtyard’s water feature.

She was definitely not considering how constant the prothean’s presence had become to her life, no matter how tumultuous the arrangement sometimes was.

“I just want to know old four-eyes is treating my girl right,” griped Aethyta, as if suffering from the worst of indignities.

Liara missed a step when the words caught up to her. Luckily her father had her arm.

But not her dignity.

“I-we’re fine!” Liara stammered, face and crest burning like a thousand suns. Aethyta threw back her head and roared with laughter, setting surrounding birds to flight.

“Athame’s tits, you blush like a school-girl.”

Liara choked, then pouted, then huffed. Then began planning the elaborate procedure that would result in her ridiculous father falling in a scummy school fountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh this was meant to be a lighter chapter! 
> 
> Again I want to express my sincere attempt is not to dramatise or trivialise trauma of any kind. Please let me know if you think I could have done better. Much of this chapter is Javik and Liara trying to navigate their particular trauma, and not always succeeding. They're kind of 'two steps forward, one step back' atm, though the great progress here is they are actually attempting to talk about this stuff now. 
> 
> Also, massive shout out to Benitsubasa who translated the first chapter which can be found here. Thank you!
> 
> Also, I have a few ideas of how prothean 'reading' and asari melds differ. Hopefully I got them across in the fic, but for clarification; asari melds tend to be all or nothing, done with those only extremely close too. It is not inherently sexual, but is definitely a part of the asari reproduction process. As a result, there are a lot of implications for the 'touching minds' thing in Part 53. Protheans are much more versatile in how they can connect and read one another. I imagine there were a lot of strict social protocols to how much you read others and expressed your own feelings. That said, there would be a lot differing levels of connection that could imply all manner of things, and connection with your peers was a vital component of dealing with stress.
> 
> After Shep's reaction when they first meet, Javik picks up that most in this cycle don't do the whole casual mind sharing thing. He kinda forgot that asari had a similar ability. His social isolation contributed to his struggling state of mind, and while he did not like sharing with Samara, it was kind of a kick to his brain to remember that he was not so wholly alien/different to those in this cycle. When he attempts to comfort Liara this way, he can feel the pull of the deeper asari mind meld, and he pretends that was why he got so caught up in it (ah denial).
> 
> Any way, enough superfluous headcanons. Sorry for the wait, and I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Glossary:
> 
> Atamna: Athame high priestesses  
> Arthana: Thessia’s capital city. Where the Temple of Athme was located.  
> Chahhu: Asari biotic dance routine.  
> Fyaer: Thessian thorned flower.  
> Kamada: Prothean word for the imperial court.  
> Maalume: Prothean overseers/moral managers.  
> Marbar Ya: Prothean word for the carers of young.  
> Shihiid: Martyr  
> Soaxiib: Prothean word for comrade, typically referring to experienced, familiar military teams.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s not all seedy bars and stripper poles,” she said dryly, straightening from the balustrade she’d been leaning over. “It is, in fact, a valued part of asari culture.”
> 
> “So I can see,” Javik replied reservedly, arms stiff at his sides. Though that might have been the flower wreath she’d goaded him into accepting. “I am still perplexed that a long dead prothean inspired a fertility festival.”

.

.

**55.**

Javik rose from his seat in the wide auditorium [senses wide and wary at the rush and rabble of dispersing students] and wondered what madness had led him to enrol in an [unstructured and undisciplined] learning regime at the university. It beggared belief.

By the standards of his cycle, Javik had been a pillar of society; an avatar, a commander, a decorated war hero [never mind the veil of grey of post-war powerlessness]. Yet somehow, the blasted university that had taken them [Liara] [he was mostly a bauble in her belt to them] on did not see him fit to consult in research regarding his [own] people.

The pinnacle of the Prothean Empire loomed high and shining in his memory [never mind the moth eaten edges] [50,000 years in deep sleep dreaming frayed everything]. What was the point in learning [simplistic] research methodology or critical thinking from a civilisation still so meagre compared to his own? And they demanded he bear no weapons [pure idiocy] [and deeply unnerving].

It made his lip curl; Javik knew this cycle [had lived it] [could survive]. What was it about the present that the faceless members of the University Board thought he did not understand?

[He had understood far darker and complex realities].

At least the dratted lecture on conceptual and cognitive biases had ended [and none had tried to murder him]. A light on Javik’s omni-tool blinked a reminder that Liara had requested his presence after the class. She’d made much ado about setting up at the new shiny lab she shared with a [chattering] salarian colleague. 

Students scattered like prey [curiosity, conniving, callousness clawed his way] as Javik stalked through marble halls. It had not taken long for his unfriendly reputation to proceed him. Nothing would [seemingly] halt the stares, but at least no more blushing maidens made to approached him [Liara had laughed and laughed].

Despite [only] one wrong turn, Javik’s [already bleak] mood had soured by the time he pushed his way into the lab.

It was empty bar Liara [scent light and crooked with focus], who did not look up from the screen full of code she was bent over. The dratted info-drone [Glyph] hovered at her side.

To the end of the rooms, a large and layered [vaguely familiar] device was set up on a raised platform. His scowling stare scoured over a number of prothean artefacts, sent on display [shabby toys and tools] [meaningless]. The asari claimed they were of inspirational value; Javik surmised the worth was of a more sentimental nature [how quaint].

“Javik, you’re here,” she [Liara] said brightly, shooting a smile over her shoulder. “I was beginning to think you’d lost your way.”

He snorted.

“This place is not so complex,” Javik clacked his teeth [but the edge of his mood felt blunt], idly poking an incomplete three-dimensional model of a beacon. “Least of all the layout.”

The tips of her crest brushed her back as Liara tilted her chin to the ceiling [calling patience or a prayer]. A zephyr of impatience and amusement ran through her sigh.

“Is there anything in this university you like?”

[You] [he did not say that].

She [still] had not turned away from her work, but Javik folded his arms and made a show of carefully considering the question.

“The fish ponds are useful,” he said after the staged contemplation.

Surprise fluttered over her, eyes widening as [at last] she made to face him.

“Are you-“ Liara stopped herself [no doubt at the grin that had crawled over his face], raising one hand in surrender. “Never mind.”

He ran his tongue over the back of his teeth and studied the slim slope of her back [asari had so little armour]. Her fingers danced over the screen.

“What is it you have to show me?” Javik asked [blinking away his distraction] [he’d been staring].

“Sorry, I keep finding things I want to add,” she mused, before nodding decisively. “Alright. Glyph, start it up.”

Abruptly, Liara shut down the monitor as the drone zipped to the large interactive holographic projector propped up to one end of the room. It was circular, lit and layered much like the galaxy map on the Normandy [ah] [that was where the recognition lay].

“This is still very rough,” Liara began, checking her omni-tool. “But I managed to upload my old research maps and combine it with more recent findings, results from other excavations, and well, I’ll just show it to you.”

Javik shrugged [intrigued by what new thing she’d imagined]. Excitement bounded off her skin [like starlight] and it felt strange that her joy should be so unbridled. That it should include him [her shy glance was not unnoticed] [nor understood]. He was loath to step closer [was not sure of the boundaries], but the tilt of her head was an invitation [or perhaps a presentation].

Flicking a finger over her omni-tool, the shutters slanted closed over the room’s wide windows [made him twitch], and with a wave of her hand, an entire galaxy burst forth from the omni-directional projector. 

Javik hit his heel against a [wayward] chair caught behind him as clusters were thrown [like a firework] to every corner of the room. Small pinpricks of light [symbols of a million things] darted around him, and Javik caught himself trying to follow them all.

It was much larger than the one on the Normandy [much brighter], and much more detailed.

Liara came to his side [pride and pleasure trilling over her crest and eyes], no doubt smiling at his silence. He could see the layers inherent in the map [like fractures in its fabric], and held up a hand to delve into the cluster known to this cycle as Sentry Omega.

The entire map warped and bent to close in on that simple system, sharpening to reveal the planets that gleamed and slowly spun around its lone star. Simple, really; the protheans had mastered [and abandoned] this technology aeons ago.

Eyes narrowed, Javik swiped his fingers over the annotations hovering behind the map [like veins behind skin]. Once expanded, they listed dates and bibliographies, data and links to other clusters and systems and planets. Liara said nothing [watched with trepidation on her tongue] as he explored the layers of the database, the [careful] map she had created of the ruins of his people. 

It was horrifying [sorrowful] and admirable [meticulous] all at once, and intrinsically morbid.

“So,” Javik said [tone carefully even], waving a hand to return the map to its widest layer. He took no note of the stars that danced between them [their light speckled on her blue skin]. “You have devised a way to track the remnants of the Empire. And the work of your competitors.”

 _My Empire,_ he did not say [he’d known that this is what this would be].

“Not just the remnants,” Liara’s eye lit up as she reached out with two arms to twist the galaxy to her whims [and what a metaphor that made]. The Terminus Systems whirled past as she brought up a planet Fehl Prime. 

“Here, on this planet a sophisticated communication transmitter, dated around 68,000 BCE was found. It is one of the oldest known prothean artefacts in existence.”

Javik grunted to hide the twinge of his throat [tried to seek out scorn to shift the feeling]. The name meant nothing to him beyond the accounts of the Normandy SR-1 visit there [no match to the internal star lines of his own time]. Sometimes it [the displacement] [the foreign sky] still threw him [choked him].

A light pressure brushed his forearm [hesitant], and all four eyes shook as they focused on the small curl of Liara’s fingers [her careful, wordless inquiry].

She waited until he dipped his mouth and chin [in affirmation] [how had she read him so well] before returning to her explanation.

“Maps have been made on the prothean migration patterns, but no-one really understood why or how they chose to expand their civilisation,” Liara continued, highlighting one of her annotations and tapping twice with her middle finger. Bright green text shone, and the galaxy drew out again as green points lit up at a dozen other places. “It was not always to the next bountiful systems, and there was note that the home-worlds of Council races were often left alone.”

With the wave of a hand, the map was angled to show a clear trajectory of green lines expanding out [crawling over the stars] [grasping].

[Ah]. So this was the path of his people. A low hum purred at the back of his throat, and Javik thought of towering cities, long laudations to virtues and victories and valor [personified in the avatars] as majestic fleets of the Empire danced through the expanse of space.

Liara was watching him again [waiting], a strange [indecipherable] quality to her expression. As if again he were a puzzle for her to solve [and that burned but it didn’t] [he was not her project].

But when Javik tilted his head in question, she [the asari] looked away.

“You’ve said before that you do not recall where the prothean home-world was,” she sighed, folding her arms in contemplation [as a ward]. “I thought, if we understood the pattern, we could follow it backwards and perhaps find it.”

A lead weight held down his tongue and blocked his throat, brought him up short with surprise. Long had his home-world been lost [in time] [in memory]. Surely there was nothing left to find [burned black by the Reapers scorn]?

What would be the point, and yet [a shiver through his skin] to smell the sweet air and tread the roads of his ancestors, would that not a victory? Stars spun around him, and Javik thought that the path of light before him akin to a dream.

For so long, all he had been able to remember [to know] was his people’s end.

“Is that…would that be acceptable?” Trepidation slipped into Liara’s tone, for all that her face was open [and she was beside him] [eyes so clear].

How different from the incessant demands for answers [salvation] [no regard for thought or troubles] of their early interactions.

Air escaped from his chest and slid out of his crooked mouth [surely not bent in a smile]. Javik nodded though, and met her gaze unflinching as he offered his answer.

“Yes.” 

.

.

**56.**

It was late; again Liara had lost herself in her research. Looked up only to find the daylight had stolen away and the campus empty.

She had always been dedicated to her research to the point of obsession, something her former professors and supervisors had always applauded and lamented. Benezia’s legacy was a long one, a shadow over her shoulder even as Liara buried expectation with enthusiasm. It was a habit she’d yet to break.

Or perhaps the legacy she was running from was her own. The galaxy had much to say about Liara T’Soni’s return to archaeology; her infamy had a long shadow. 

Still, Illium did not sleep; traversing the long lit city was no trial even at this late hour. 

The need to sleep, however, came to Liara midst the drone of the sky-car and neon shapes that slid by. Biting her lip, she considered the mountain of marking she still had to complete for tomorrow’s lesson. Her own fault for becoming so engrossed in linking the prothean presence on Joab to little explored sites in Sigurd’s Cradle instead marking her fifth year student’s papers.

Managing the galaxy’s largest information network through a war was one thing. Apparently lecturing and tutoring as a teacher and mentor was an entirely different ball game. By the time she arrived home, Liara was still trying to re-evaluate her priorities. 

Keying in the password, the door to the apartment chimed as it slid open. 

“I’m back,” Liara called out as she locked the door behind her. The light was on, but the prothean did not call back. That did not matter so long as he heard her. They’d mutually developed a routine to avoid triggering each other’s panic buttons.

Still, a small furrow creased her brow as Liara scouted the kitchen. Untouched, not that Javik left much trace of his culinary habits.

It was odd. If he planned to be late, he would have notified her. 

Narrow eyes tracked each nook and cranny in the room to forestall any surprises. Not that the still and quiet unnerved her, but Liara had become accustomed to the bustle of campus and the controlled presence of Javik at her side. Surely he was not in any kind of trouble; she had alerts out for that kind of thing. 

Liara shrugged off her coat as she walked through the open plan living area, and tried not to sigh at the soft sounds of the city below and her own breath. 

Only, as she passed the lounge set a large, red and armoured shape caught her eye and made her heart skip.

Javik was sprawled over the lounge, feet stuck out precariously over one side. His face was turned away into the corner of the couch, and the knuckles of one hand brushed the plush rug on the floor. Stepping closer, she noted the light rise and fall of chest. Even, and for once his eyelids did not flutter with restless dreaming. 

A long, low fondness crept out from under her ribs as Liara made her way softly to his side. She’d become so accustomed to the defensive scowl that appeared permanently etched into his expression. It was so rare for Javik to leave himself unguarded. Perhaps that meant he’s begun to think of their small apartment as home, else he was too tired to care for his usual paranoia.

Another heavy exhale seeped from the prothean’s barrel chest, and Liara wondered if it was worth it to wake him. Sleeping in armour was never an exercise in painless waking. Yet, knowing Javik, he would only become prickly and difficult out of wariness. 

He had mentioned that morning, she recalled, oh so nonchalantly that he’d scheduled another appointment with Doctor Kirot. It had been three weeks since the last and Liara had held her breath and nodded over her porridge as if it were no big thing. Of course she’d then forgotten it like a selfish churl. How utterly careless.

And she supposed that his exhaustion was more or less to be expected. At least he was not black and blue from a beating; the first few sessions with the krogan neurophysiologist had left Javik spitting and snarling in fury. Her initial alarm was abruptly dismissed and no details were divulged, but again and again Javik had returned.

“He tells me I am weak,” was all Javik had said, batting away her hands. “I will correct him of this misconception.”

Biting her bottom lip, Liara shook her head at his sleep-strung murmurs and quietly retreated. She’d not begrudge Javik his seldom found rest.

Dimming the lights above him, Liara lingered, still taken by the sight of his quiet. 

She spent too much time in her lab, Liara knew that. Amateur interests had always been locked away in a box marked as distractions. Some furnace had always burned in her heart for the unknown quantity of the galaxy; seeking out the secrets of the ancients that no one dreamed to consider captivated her attention and appealed to her vanity.

And yet in the heavy hang of evening, on her lounge, one of those ancients lay in heavy slumber, and the only curiosity in Liara’s mind was whether he would wake for dinner or not.

.

.

**57.**

After twenty minutes spent trying to configure an opening sentence that adequately conveyed the [not overly] complex concepts of method variance in organizational research [which he was tasked with], Javik growled at the computer and thrust himself away from the desk.

“Why are your teachings so ineffectual?” The snarl broke the [otherwise] peaceful atmosphere of Liara’s laboratory, and had the asari herself [startled and annoyed] raise her head in inquiry.

“Excuse me?”

Javik clacked his teeth [at the cadence of her voice].

“This cycle,” he seethed, gesturing to the blank screen with one [irate] hand. “How is one possibly meant to impart anything of intricacy or depth with mere words?”

Liara blinked and drummed her [restless] fingers against the edge of her keyboard 

“Well,” she began, deliberately neutral in tone [almost diplomatic] [just shy of sardonic]. “Somehow we’ve managed. It’s a skill like any other that can be learned.”

Her eyes were wide and entirely too guileless.

Admittedly, Javik had not anticipated such difficulties with the course work the university demanded of him. To think that such limited [primitive] skills were needed for him to consult on research on his own people was inconceivable [they were not studying the asari or humans, after all]. 

“It is ineffectual,” grumbled the prothean, glaring balefully at the [condemnation of the] blinking marker at the beginning of his empty page.

A sigh came from the side [from where she sat] [soft and sly], followed by the shifting of furniture and cloth. When he looked up, Liara leaned over his shoulder [warm and worried] as she took in his [non-existent] progress.

“I didn’t realise you were having such trouble with your modules,” she said [mirroring his sentiment] [and oh how that was galling].

“The manner of communication and learning here is baffling,” Javik replied [shame boiled in his throat].

“How was it done in your cycle?”

“With much more finesse,” he snapped. 

He [Javik] could practically hear the roll of her eyes as fond frustration sparked over her shoulders. Humming her scepticism, Liara moved to lean on the desk beside him [five fingers holding the edge] [the smooth curve of her forearm near his own].

Heat rose to his face at her patience.

“It was passed on in a manner that could not be misconstrued,” Javik bit out at last.

“Melding,” Liara discerned [surprise and curiosity bubbled under her scent].

“Partially,” sighed the prothean as he leant back in his chair, thinking on the tomes shaped for schooling [the wash of knowledge and comprehension] [certain in its quality]. “The technology of the beacons, and the shards, was the least of our advancements.”

Liara was nodding to herself, hand curled to her chin [as she did when exploring thought].

“The transfer of information must have been far more fluid. Fast, too,” she mused [correctly] out loud before turning her bright [blue] eyes to him. “Were you not taught deductive reasoning at an individual level?”

Javik scoffed at her [warped] supposition [if only to shake himself free of distraction], pushing out his chair so he could face the asari properly.

“Individual? Each and every prothean had a place and a purpose in the Empire. We were given the knowledge to perform and perfect that purpose, passed down from the highest minds,” Javik expounded dryly [longed for old learning]. Liara looked on with careful distance as he extrapolated. “Yet now, they expect the young to stumble about with distant guidance, to reach a fallible, subjective truth.” 

She wanted to argue with him [it danced all over her expression] [half lidded eyes] [the roll of her jaw]. The afternoon sun filtered in through the shutters to dapple over the [almost sparkling] cerulean of her skin. 

“We are not going over the merits of individual autonomy and democracy verses collective stratocratic rule again,” Liara declared through gritted teeth [fingers drumming again]. “I don’t want to inspire another betting pool.”

Folding his arms, Javik bowed his head to concede her wish [this day had been a good one]. In response the corner of Liara’s mouth tilted into a smile he was quickly becoming [overly] fond of [pleasure and peace and humour]. 

[He was staring again].

“You are considered an expert in research,” Javik stated [in revelation and announcement], grasping his knees to lean closer.

“Hmm?” Liara blinked [alert and quizzical outside her smile], read the intent in his expression and frowned. “No.”

His mouth bent down at the [immediate] rejection. Was it the thought of melding with him [a prothean] that repelled her so? An unexpected [inexplicable] pang went through Javik’s chest, even as he dismissed it as absurd. Likely she had some [other] irrational [sentimental] opposition to the idea.

“What is your objection?”

“Laziness, for one thing,” Liara responded [dry and amused] [like a smooth stone].

“Efficiency,” countered Javik.

“And hypocritical,” she continued [more] sternly. “You frequently object to my method and reasoning. Why would you…?”

Liara waved a hand in the air in some [supposed] meaningful gesture. As if her arguments were based on more than her people’s limited preconceptions of personal achievement and understanding [as if melding worked so shallowly]. Javik huffed as he scooted his chair closer. 

“So I have a base from which to form this assignment,” he said, tracking the ridge of her nasal protrusion [the displeased lines tightening her expression]. “I know my ideas, but to project them in such a flat form is…”

His sentence trailed off; piecing together an argument as [only] a text document had perplexed and frustrated him. Javik did not like [want] to admit he had such trouble [failure] mastering this primitive mode of communicating ideas [especially to her]. 

“No,” Liara shook her head [not cold but unyielding]. “You can learn how to write an essay like everybody else.”

“It is a waste of time,” He hissed, gut twisted [from what?]. Would that they were still at war [state of emergency]; he could [had, at Eden Prime] seized information without consent [such was a soldier’s prerogative].

But that was a petty [disgraceful] thing to long for.

“And yet, that is how we do things now,” shot back Liara [a thread of anger along her back]. “Join a study group and learn the skill yourself instead of lifting off someone else’s effort. Interact with your peers-“

“They are not my peers,” Javik snapped, knuckles tightening on his knees [at her wilful misunderstanding].

“Then who is?” The look on her face was halfway exasperated [her scent spoke the edge of anger]. 

“You are,” exclaimed the prothean, which cut her short [stunned and still and blinking]. “Which is why I wish to take this knowledge from you.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment; what had been bordering on an argument had twisted into something of a confession.

Still, Javik rolled his shoulders and wondered at how [much] his admission had taken her back [it was nothing]. A dark stain of colour had crept over her freckled cheeks. Maybe it was not so surprising; it was easy to forget how limited the senses of this cycle were [asari barely better than the others].

A deep breath left Liara’s chest, and she looked away.

“I can’t tell if you mean that, or if you’re trying to sweet talk me,” the asari said quietly [ruefully]. 

“Bah,” Javik spat [not sore at her scepticism]. “You and Shepard, so caught up in intent.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Tone sharp, [he watched] Liara’s scowl deepened, paused and petered out to a lesser storm [ire salt and smooth]. “Never mind. You know asari melds did not work the same as prothean ones.”

That made Javik falter; she was unsettled and unnerved. He had not considered potential cultural implications [had not read that hesitance on her] [had misread her before]. Surely Liara had not misconstrued his request?

“It would not be a true meld,” assured the prothean, wrestling with the urge to sooth her disquiet [why should she feel so baffled him]. “I would take only what I needed. Nothing else.”

“It’s not so simple,” Liara sighed her [uneasy] reproach, one hand rubbing her bicep. “It’s…much more personal than that. And I’ve been told you need to interact with you classmates better.” 

This time Javik looked away at the ghost of her unease and worry [that he was the source of both]. Air slid over his teeth; she was not the first to voice the sentiment of his unfriendliness [Kirot] [lecturers] [what did they know?]. 

Liara’s objections [so far as he could see] came from a [misguided] idea that his [Javik] own flawed reasoning should learn him the skills she’d mastered herself, his [failed] association with his [impossibly young] classmates and the intimate nature of asari melding.

She had not turned away his comfort [had reached for it] [had ended it before their minds had become too entwined]. His classmates were immature [brash] and annoying [loud and alive]. This cycle’s manner of transferring of skills and ideas was unbearably taxing and clumsy [bad enough he had to be there].

A glance back at the asari showed the discomfort had not left her posture [or scent].

This cycle would be the end of him.

Javik scowled, and before Liara could object [confuse him more], he got up and strode away.

.

.

**58.**

She was already late when she stumbled into the Biology Lab Five, flustered from half running to meet the appointment. Doctor Barré swivelled her head sharp at her entry, and Javik was not in sight.

“My apologies,” Liara gushed, straightening the collar of her shirt as the human scientist blinked owlishly through broad rimmed glasses. “I got caught up with one of my students. Bright girl, but does not let up.”

Doctor Barré popped her lips before schooling her amusement.

“No trouble, Doctor T’Soni,” she smiled, setting a dish holding a number of telemetry leads beside a med-bed surrounded with all manner of monitors and equipment. “Monsieur Javik was just getting ready.”

Liara nodded, still flushed and uncertain as she pulled at her dress. She hadn’t meant to be late, especially when assisting a colleague’s research. Her eyes darted to the wide windows of the lab, scouring automatically for exits and cover.

Barré had turned her attention to a trolley, set up with a range of syringes and other tools that Liara mostly recognised. Really, the only reason she was here was for Javik; her speciality was certainly well away from any kind of biological field. 

“I appreciate you coming,” mentioned the female human, a slight lilt to her tongue that brought to mind another human doctor from a long time ago. “Especially at this inconvenient time.”

“It’s nothing,” Liara assured, crest tingling a little in her eagerness to please and agitation. Setting down her bag, the asari stepped forward to investigate the monitors currently being prepped. 

The rest of her potential sentence trailed off when Javik emerged from behind a privacy screen, clad in nothing but his under clothes.

“Oh.”

His shoulders were very wide.

“At a loss for words, Doctor?” Javik had not even missed a beat, smug and unconcerned about his state of undress as he sauntered toward her.

“No!” Liara felt warm under the collar and over the crest, even as she protested. Surely it was the surprise. “Um…that is…I did not realise…”

Javik’s smirk had somehow grown wider, insufferable git. 

“You are not helping your case,” he told her. Behind her, Doctor Barré made a noise very similar to an aborted laugh as Liara realised that she had yet to look away from the prothean’s chest. It was shock, surely, that made her gape at his robust frame.

“Oh shut it,” she sniffed, turning her nose as she faced Barré. “Is there anything you need me to do?”

Barré’s round face was merry as she shook her head. Liara studiously avoided noting the soft puff of Javik’s breath at her back.

“The telemetry leads, if you would,” replied Barré, adjusting the screen nearest to her even as her gaze flickered between the two of them. “The blue ones go over the plates. Monsieur Javik mentioned a preference to being handled by yourself.”

She felt Javik shift at that. Even as it made her cheeks flare, Liara told herself it was only sensible. Javik had made it clear he did not appreciate unsolicited contact, especially with strangers. Plus, one of her minors had been in applied alien physiology. 

That, or he’d asked so as to fluster her as payback for making him join a study group instead of lifting current critical thinking straight from her brain. Either was probable.

Clearing her throat, Liara span on her heel and delivered a raised brow at the prothean. Javik only blinked slowly with both sets of eyes in response, before hoisting himself onto the med-bed with ease. Doctor Barré sighed about a misplaced chart, and bustled off into the adjoining office to locate it.

“That is a severe scar,” she said without thinking; the expanse of his chest that was now almost at eye level and three long gashes cut along the plates that protected his pectorals. Chitin that mirrored his carapace armoured his shoulders and chest, only to peter out across his ribs and under his deltoids. A natural defence from the radiation of the prothean home-world?

It was a small movement, but Liara caught the flinch that met her scrutiny. Soon gone, hidden under his usual arrogance.

“Is that your expert opinion?” The glint of his sharp teeth came through his jeer.

“Expert archaeologist not biologist,” scolded Liara, annoyed at the deflection. “And I shouldn’t have to tell you of the distinction.”

Javik huffed at that, though his gaze remained careful as she picked up the first lead and removed the back. For all the bravado he was uncertain, she realised. It probably went against all instinct to let himself been mapped so. Previously only Chakwas had that privilege.

The University must have strongly pushed for Javik’s aid with Doctor Barré’s research, for him to agree. 

“It looks old,” she noted idly, placing the first blue lead on the lower part of the plate covering his clavicle. “Not from anything in this cycle.”

“No.”

Her eyes flickered up to Javik’s before becoming diverted by the markings on his bare skin. The line that split his chin flared over his throat, before continuing over the rest of his torso. From the throat, red ran down past his bare belly to disappear under his briefs. Branches split at his solar plexus and navel, and two other flared red segments ran above the exaggerated bones of Javik’s hips.

It was fascinating, Liara allowed herself to admit, to see his body for the first time away from all his armour. For science, of course, did a trill of sensation that ran down her back. To learn of who exactly had crafted all those ruins she loved to study.

And to learn her friend. The thought came sudden and caught her breath.

“I thought you’d be more fully plated,” Liara said quietly, placing three more blue leads over his plates. Watched the rise and fall of Javik’s barrel chest.

“And I thought you’d be more entranced,” he quipped. She gave the prothean a look; he was trying to unsettle her again to belay his own uncertainty. 

“What was the significance of the colour red to the protheans?” Liara asked when the tight lines around Javik’s eyes clenched. She could not offer the same kind of comfort that he’d provided on that windy bridge; asari melds did not have the same nuances. A distraction, though. 

“A curious question,” he rumbled, gold eyes bright and burning and tense. Liara tossed back her head and affected a superior tone oft used by her mother.

“In most races, the colour of blood holds particular associations which surprisingly do not much vary,” she lectured with a studious tone. Placing the first of the while telemetry leads on Javik’s right trapezius caused a small hiss to curl from behind his teeth. “Human and krogan red. Asari indigo and turian blue. These colours tend to represent heightened emotions like anger, or lust.” 

His eyes narrowed at that as she continued sticking the leads along his ribs and stomach. Distantly, Liara noticed that Doctor Barré hovered at the adjoining doorway, but made not motion to enter. The campus wide betting pool involving the two of them was such a badly kept secret, Liara half suspected that Aethyta had started it. Terribly embarrassing, but she was not particularly surprised; Javik and her had wordlessly agreed to ignore it.

What did surprise Liara was the way Javik all but leant into where her fingers rested from placing the last of the white leads on his abdomen, just above his hip. Her intent had charged away from her and now the full weight of Javik’s attention pressed against her skin, hummed against her hurried pulse.

“Yet prothean blood is green,” Liara steadfastly continued, despite her suddenly heavy tongue. “And what relics I have encountered that demonstrate particular colour symbolism normally feature red.”

Javik’s lips thinned, that red line pulled as he revealed the tips of his teeth. A mask slid over his expression at her inquiry, a hollow sneer Liara had no patience for.

“And now you-“ Javik began.

Her fingers dipped, careless and careful they brushed along the lined red streak that ran from his hip. His breath _hitched_ as his body stiffened, and a muscle clenched in his jaw.

“You _liked_ that,” Liara gasped, eyes impossibly wide and crest burning with embarrassment and victory. 

Satisfied she’d suitably unbalanced him, Liara made to draw her hand away. Yet Javik moved forward in his seat to follow, to keep the contact between them, and she found him very much closer to her person than a moment before.

“You have,” Javik said, head crooked as he looked down at her. She watched the bob of his throat. “An infernally quick and devious mind, for a primitive.”

Liara blinked, all at once confronted with a strange thrum in her gut that caught her breath and the heat under her palm. All four of Javik’s eyes watched her with a scrutiny she’d not felt in a long while; the pressure between them expanded heavy with waiting. 

Struggling through the stuttering halt of her mind, Liara ran her teeth over her bottom lip to bite out a response. Only, Javik’s gaze snapped down to her mouth that in turn sent a hot jolt up her spine.

The clatter of heavy footsteps made Liara jump and Javik straighten as Doctor Barré noisily re-entered the lab. 

Liara waved away the human scientist’s apologies, studiously not glancing at Javik as she tried to manage the furious blush over her face and the hammering of her facetious heart. Goddess knew what that was, what…

Goddess.

.

.

**59.**

“Massani, to your left!”

"This'll put 'em down!"

A grenade soared through the air, and Javik had just enough forewarning [insight] to shield his eyes as the cursed thing exploded.

Massani cawed gleefully [victoriously] as burning shrapnel soared through the air. Javik grunted [eyes sharp and sure], mindful of the two foes attempting to flank them from the other side. Swinging up his rifle, the prothean dispensed bursts of cover fire as Massani [human, male, aging] darted forward to the next crate [joints stiff] [even as joy rang off his skin].

Javik’s gold gaze caught each stumble, each delayed action [and covered for it]. 

When the round was said and done [holograms shattering into the emptiness they were] and they’d collected their winnings from the Arena Complex [jostled and admired by weaker spectators], the pair of veterans eased themselves into a small booth at the adjoining bar.

“Still dry?” asked the grizzled human as he hailed a waitress. “Damn shame.”

Javik clacked his teeth [ignored the stink of stale beer and sweat]. Adrenaline ran through the watchers and the warriors of this area; bravado and competition ran through some, thrill and ambition through others. None were a threat [Javik had not let his edges dull], but he spread his senses out regardless.

“Well, I’m not one gripe about another man’s choices,” Massani shrugged [shark eyes glinting], though the long and loving swig he took from his beer was far from innocent. “Good to see your aim’s still sharp.”

“I am not so careless with my life so as to offer it up for the taking,” Javik admonished, tilting his head back to better study the old human. “You have weathered well, though your movement has slowed.”

Massani only scoffed at that [expected] and scratched at the uneven stubble that covered his jaw.

“Yeah well, not much I can do about that,” he [the human] grunted, rolling his half empty glass on the table [blunt fingers restless and notched]. “There are stims, but what’s the point? We all have to die someday.”

“Death is an inevitability,” agreed Javik. The Cosmic Imperative was not kind; only the strong succeeded and no thing remained eternal [not even the Reapers].

A sly sneer pulled at Massani’s mouth [dry amusement peppering his throat] as he downed the remainder of his drink [in one foolish go].

“Jesus, I forgot how fucking cheerless you can be.”

Javik blinked; he was not there to assuage the human of his inevitable decline [would honour his comrade but not baby him].

“In comparison to yourself?” 

A chuckle hissed through the mercenary’s teeth, pulling at his scar.

“Well, you’ve got me there,” Massani conceded, leaning back in his seat in a [deceptive] slouch. “I wondered if shacking up with that pretty little doctor had lightened your mood. Seems not.”

The spear of feeling that shot through Javik’s chest was nothing [meant nothing] [an anomaly]. Never mind the [almost] incident the other week in the [human] biologist’s lab [why recall that now]. Blast Massani’s growing smirk [inaccurate suppositions and colloquialisms aside]. 

“We are partners in forging the last legacy of the protheans,” Javik snapped [tone bit and bare], fingers twitching where they lay on the table [not thinking of her own blue hands]. “We are not ‘shacking up’.”

The responding chuckle was raspy and raw.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” the old human said through his humour [breath wheezing]. 

Javik flashed his teeth and looked away [hated the speculation]. Already a few heads were turned their way in inquiry. The particulars of his relationship with the asari were under enough [unwarranted] scrutiny as was [Shepard] [Aethyta] [every cursed staff and student on campus]. As if he’d be so weak [and weary] to become infatuated with some primitive, let alone an asari [let alone Liara] [who was his light]. It was pathetic [a disgrace to the Empire].

“I only ask ‘cause I’ve a job coming up. Need me a reliable crew,” Zaeed continued, careless of the [conflicting] confusion he’d inspired. The human male had already summoned forth another beer, and leant over it as if in consultation. 

Javik snapped his attention back to his companion. There was a wistfulness to Massani’s voice [a haunting] that was [too] familiar.

“I miss it, sometimes. Having a reliable team,” Massani scoffed as he gestured to a swaggering group of youths [full to the brim with boasting] entering the Arena. “So many of the young ones these days think they’re hot shit ‘cause they survived the Reapers. As if that makes anyone special.” 

“Hn.” The corner of his mouth dipped, and Javik studied the deep creases around Zaeed’s eyes [liver spots and retreating hairline]. The human was in the latter part of his life [despite all of his impossible missions]; even the Avatar of Vitality had come to a twilight age and passed on the mantle.

He had no doubt that Massani could eliminate any number of the cocksure combatants currently trying to earn [empty] acclaim. Yet, it would not take much. A failing knee, a crippling pain, too slow a turn, and the mercenary would be [yet] another body on a battlefield without a competent [loyal] team to pull him out of the fire.

“Are you seeking to employ me?” Javik asked.

“You think I brought you here just to bitch and moan?” Massani’s mismatched gaze was scornful [impatience jittered down his arms].

Clacking his teeth, Javik bit down something that might have been a laugh. 

It would be easy, he considered, to return to hunting down filth with Massani. They worked well as a team [matched in scorn and ruthlessness], far more aligned then he’d ever been on the Normandy. There would be no more infuriating clashes with the [insufferable] krogan [Kirot] that sought to tell [teach] Javik that everything he knew was wrong. No more navigating the restless and wry corridors of the University and its inhabitants [clogged with weakness and worry and work].

No Liara becoming cross when he picked apart [another of] her theories [spluttering indignation], brow furrowed [lips pursed] as she worked on yet another algorithm to piece together the past of his people.

Her smile when she’d shown him the galaxy map [his throat did not clench at the thought of leaving]. [The feel of her fingers against his abdomen] [not that he thought of that either] [no].

She [Liara] would be wounded were Javik to take Massani’s offer of employment [would cast him a hypocrite] [would be betrayed].

It would be easy [yes], but also so terribly impossible.

“I see,” wheezed Massani, raising a [greying] brow when Javik looked askance [quizzically] at him. “You are an absolute bloody moron, aren’t you?”

The prothean did not know what to say to that.

.

.

**60.**

White-leaved ghost trees, strung with pale blue lanterns, lined the wide but bustling Unity Plaza of down town Nos Phlous. At the centre, pale-clad and painted matrons performed the Springtime Sacrament as dancers of all ages followed the flow of the song in the plaza. Maidens twirled in the inner circles of the ever twisting dance, some bearing blue and purple ribbons as they mirrored their older partners’ movements. 

There were smaller dances on some of the higher plaza levels, though they were mostly filled spectators, food stalls and biotic flower displays.

Liara, however, kept returning her attention to the thick throng of dancers, twirling robes and ribbons as petal confetti burst into the air. The whole tableau took her back to childhood. To simpler days. 

“You asari have a dance for everything,” Javik grumbled, though she could not tell if he was merely stating the fact or truly irritated. The busy crowd wore on him, she knew. The same anxiousness frayed her senses and skirted her scalp.

But Liara had not participated in a Janiris festival for a very long time. Perhaps it had been overdue.

“It’s not all seedy bars and stripper poles,” she said dryly, straightening from the balustrade she’d been leaning over. “It is, in fact, a valued part of asari culture.”

“So I can see,” Javik replied reservedly, arms stiff at his sides. Though that might have been the flower wreath she’d goaded him into accepting. “I am still perplexed that a long dead prothean inspired a fertility festival.”

Liara rolled her eyes and made no effort to hide it.

“Is it so baffling?” She counted, tone dry as the maidens all dipped and shifted. “The memory of Janiri is linked with the turning of the seasons and the harvest. Asari danced to invoke her blessing for a bountiful new year.”

A high horn trilled, and the maidens leapt and flourished their ribbons as older asari cast biotic arcs in a spiral pattern that ushered on the youngsters. One hand flew to Javik’s arm as Liara pointed out the shift in the dance.

“See,” she exclaimed, as another round of petals were launched into the air. “The maidens reach up as blossoming new life as spring banishes the cold of winter.”

When she tore her eyes away from the swaying throng of celebrating asari, it was to find all four of Javik’s gold eyes wide as he gaped at her, mouth tipped open in some kind of shock. Only when it fell did she realise she’d been grinning wide enough to make her cheeks ache.

“You did this?”

Heat flared over her cheeks and crest, and Liara quickly withdrew her hand as a hollow echo sounded behind her ribs.

“My mother did not favour these larger, public dances,” she admitted, lining up her fingers on the balustrade. “Too dangerous, maybe. But we danced together at the temple during festivals.” 

A part of her now wondered if had been more to avoid her father’s detection. Benezia had been a complex mother, but Liara always revelled in dancing with her during Janiris. A new white dress trimmed in violet and ribbons to match while her mother crowned her with yellow flowers a fond kiss. It was one of the few occasions she took priority over all of Benezia’s other duties and machinations.

“It was my favourite,” Liara’s voice turned wistful, and she studied her cuticles as a series of bells chimed. 

The prickle at her eyes was not to be indulged. Nor was the image of the beaten, black clad figure crumpled on wire grating that pierced her mind. Liara pressed her lips into a tight line.

“We did not have family units in my cycle.” A discordant note in Javik’s confession broke her morbid reverie, and she looked up to see him frowning intently at the dance below. Liara had suspected as much, but to record Javik had never spoken about his youth. “Our lineage was listed and memorised, but few knew their sire or dam personally.”

The muscles under his eyes hitched, and she had to swallow at the reflective turn of his expression.

“Young were raised communally,” Liara confirmed.

“Young were raised in hearth homes by the Maaba Ya,” Javik nodded. “Adults were sent where duty led them.” 

She wondered what that must have been like, raised in line with who knew how many other children. Crowded, probably, and noisy, depending on how early protheans had drilled duty and discipline into their children.

From the taut line of Javik’s jaw and his stern, straight posture, Liara suspected it was early. The shadow of the Reapers had stretched far in his time. It made her own upbringing, lonely and calculated as it had been, seem idyllic.

Liara bit her bottom lip.

“Still,” she began carefully. “You must not have been lonely, at least?” 

The drumming from below intensified to a crescendo, and about them people, asari and aliens alike, began cheering. It made the both of them flinch. 

“I had a sister,” Javik said, so soft she almost missed it under the vigorous applause. Liara hiccupped; for all his rages she’d never heard Javik sound so hollow and harmed. The points of his teeth peeked through his tired grimace, and Liara fought the powerful urge to hold him.

Likely Javik would read it as pity. Difficult sod.

“What was she like?” Liara asked, and instead lay her hand palm up on the balustrade as a wordless offering. 

“Everything a prothean soldier should be,” Javik huffed, and it hurt to see how his eyes blinked through a watery sheen. “Ruthless, cunning, fierce. I wished so much to follow her footsteps and fight at her side.” 

Head dipped so low his chin hit his chest, Javik sighed as he lifted a heavy hand to lay upon hers. A trill ran up her back and over her crest at the contact. Carefully, Liara manoeuvred her grip to fit around his two fingers, and gave a comforting squeeze.

Already the shape of his melancholy sang alongside her own. 

“Pah,” scorned Javik, studiously not meeting her eyes as his fingers curled around hers. “Now I cannot even remember her name!”

A pang struck her chest [ _how did this loss return to haunt him now_ ], and Liara ducked her head. Midst the plaza, tired and laughing dancers were swapping out with fresh and eager volunteers.

“It is not the same,” Liara started, reaching out with her compassion to line the threads that connected them. Javik did not answer, but the tilt of his head betrayed his attention. “But on the Citadel, Aethyta told me once that I had a sister. It was war, and there was no time, but I was so excited. I always wanted one.” 

A rueful smile hooked Liara’s mouth as lanterns glittered prettily in the surrounding trees. Feeling sparked under her skin

“But I tried to find her,” a bitter and self-deprecating laugh tumbled off her tongue. “Only, she’d died decades ago, and her two daughters both died on Selvos.” 

Liara had berated herself for expecting otherwise. And then Thessia was lost and the Citadel oh it had almost seemed too much. The Reapers had stolen so much from so many, and Liara was one of the fortunate few. The knowing did not make it any easier to swallow. 

Her poor father; Aethyta had suffered so much more then she let on.

“That is the way of the universe,” Javik rumbled, gentle acknowledgement dabbing at her grief [ _I know, I know, we both know how the universe takes_ ]. When she let out a shuddering breath, so did he.

“It is not the only way,” Liara asserted, tugging at his hand until the prothean stepped closer. Gazing down at the joyful mess of maidens and matrons, she leaned against Javik and smiled. Felt it run through his hurt. “Sometimes it gives back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aye, it's finally done. Sorry about the wait. Moving city and all that. I should probably post this tomorrow after sleep and one last edit, but too bad.
> 
> Hoped you enjoyed this. My biggest trouble was trying to balance the times that Javik and Liara get on with the times they squabble like children. I hope it felt consistent. Would love to hear any thoughts on the matter.
> 
>  
> 
> Glossary
> 
> Atamna: Athame high priestesses  
> Arthana: Thessia’s capital city. Where the Temple of Athme was located.  
> Chahhu: Asari biotic dance routine.  
> Fyaer: Thessian thorned flower.  
> Kamada: Prothean word for the imperial court.  
> Maalume: Prothean overseers/moral managers.  
> Marbar Ya: Prothean word for the carers of young.  
> Shihiid: Martyr  
> Soaxiib: Prothean word for comrade, typically referring to experienced, familiar military teams.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Javik,” she said, or tried to through the sudden hot swell of emotion that burned at her eyes. He blinked slowly, but did not turn. Liara licked her lips and tried again. “Javik, do not read your people’s sacrifice as failure.”

.

.

**61.**

How exactly had he [Javik] [last of the protheans] allowed events to conspire such an unbearable situation?

Javik sat a sticky and peeling table [worn by restless hands and ripe odours], empty bar one sobbing asari [at his side] after their [supposed] fellows abandoned them for some kind of [barbaric] drinking contest that symbolically indicated an end of one set of proceedings and the beginning of another.

“S-sorry,” bawled the berry blue maiden into the table [weak and weepy] [it made his skin crawl], head cradled in her arms. “She’s so a-amazing and I just know she’d never return my…“

The grimace etched into his face deepened as the [idle] babble trailed off. Noise and hormones and sweat clogged his senses [fists clenched on the table], and Javik dearly longed for the security of his rifle [has only a pistol at his side]. Shifting in his [uncomfortable] seat, he again glared at the rowdy crowd before him for the other members of the study group that had seemingly abandoned them [leaving him with this mess]. 

He also hoped to forestall being solicited for mating rituals; the asari [and humans] in the bar were amorous and bold. 

“I-I mean, I’m right, aren’t I?” The asari maiden [Mathete] raised her head enough to guzzle down another mouthful of her beverage [of extremely questionable quality]. “Doctor T’Soni like a h-hero. No one takes maidens s-seriously, but she took on the mm…Matriarchs…and she’d never be interested in someone l-like me!”

[Ugh]. He did not know what was worse; being in this wretched place or listening to the lovelorn longing [wailing] of this maiden. 

[Too many people] [not enough room] [he wanted to fight].

The asari shuddered again. Javik cringed internally. He only hoped she [Liara] arrived soon [to get him out of this hell-hole] and would be suitably chastened for being [indirectly] at fault for this entire debacle. 

When [at last] the familiar shroud of her scent [myha and myrtle] [finally] brushed against him, Javik started [burst with relief] to find her right by the table. Unlike the [lustful] revellers about them [all bare skin and black leather], Liara shone in her white collared coat and long dress. He looked at her overlong [he knew], but she was such a welcome sight. 

Arms folded [perplexed and amused], Liara raised a brow.

“What have you gotten yourself into?”

Javik bristled at her tone [lowered his reverent eyes]. Beside him, Mathete moaned [pitifully] into her arms.

“I blame you entirely,” he sniffed imperiously [posture straightening just a little].

“Me?” She [Liara] blinked and leaned back.

They both paused [flinched] at the tremendous cheer that consumed [clambered around] the dingy student bar.

“If this is how all study groups finish,” he waited testily for the noise to quieten [as much as it would] [trills ran over his skin] before continuing. “I fail to see their use.”

Liara paused at that [lips tilted in a smile], and cast a critical eye over their surroundings. In one corner, a disc-jockey had heightened the beat and was encouraging an [unseemly] mess of winding bodies.

“Yes, well,” she mused. “I am impressed at the spectacle. Poor Mathete.”

“She seems quite enamoured with you,” Javik sneered [to cover his unease], without glancing at his pathetic companion [enduring that drivel had been agony] [made him uncertain]. Liara [to his interest] shook her head as a resigned and baffled hue slid over her.

“I know,” Liara sighed, running a [distracted] hand over her crest before moving around the table. “Come on, let’s get the two of you out of here.”

It did not take much effort for the ungainly trio to push their way through the pulse of people making spectacles of themselves. Javik snapped [teeth bare] at those that sought to cast their eyes in speculation, solicitation and amusement. The rank place was full of disgrace [and this was what had won the war?].

The maiden murmured against his chest, and revulsion rippled over him as he felt the confused tangle of her [juvenile] emotions. It must have shown on his expression, for Liara frowned and sought to take more of the burden of her [Mathete’s] weight.

“Were you hoping I would scare her off?” Javik needled Liara as she packed the insensible asari into the back of a sky-car. It was better outside [clear sight lines] [cold air clean and cutting]. More revellers stumbled past them, too caught in their enjoyment to pay him mind [all four eyes watched sharply even so].

Closing the sky-car door, Liara propped a hand on her hip and met his gaze evenly.

“I was hoping she would learn tact and you would learn patience,” she replied dryly, before opening the door to the driver’s seat. He watched the sway of her shoulders and the impatient tilt of her head.

Snorting to himself, Javik allowed one corner of his mouth to curl up. Liara rarely acted without reason [grim approval hummed at his ribs], and the prothean idly wondered what other hidden machinations he had missed. Not many [he’d learnt her well], and she’d sought to be more transparent with her motives [to him at least].

“How conniving, even for you,” Javik purred as he clambered into the passenger’s side [never missed a chance to rile her]. “I’m almost impressed.”

“Then night has not ended in complete disaster,” Liara smiled at him [sly and secret in her pleasure], hooking her omni-tool up to the nav-guide and starting up the engine. “Just how did you end up in there?”

Javik eased back into his seat [felt the rigid plates of his shoulders and back loosen]. He did not need to fear here, by her side [between them they could topple mountains]. City lights cast their sporadic light over the car, and Javik listen to the soft sound of her [Liara’s] breath over the whimpers of the asari in the back.

“We were lured there by the promise of a quiz.” That, in hindsight, had been a lapse of judgement [should have marked the eager delight of the others]. He’d spent all evening refusing offers and interest [was drained from defensiveness]. “We may have mistaken it for an educational competition.”

“Ah well.” Her amusement was not unkind.

When at last they reached the student lodging that Liara had ascertained the young asari resided in, Javik pushed back Liara to carry the maiden in himself [would be quicker] [could get home sooner]. She [Mathete] gurgled in her stupor and Javik grit his teeth.

“This way,” Liara said, lit by the orange glow of the omni-tool, one [warm] palm patting his shoulder as she led the way through winding corridors and sleek stairs. 

It took little effort for her to hack the lock on Mathete’s door, and Javik huffed as he [brusquely] set [dropped] his burden down on her neatly made bed. 

Liara lingered though, pulling off the maiden’s shoes and setting a quilt over her with a [profound] gentleness that surprised him. Javik’s eyes narrowed from where he leant against the door, studying her swift bustle to fetch water from the basin to encourage the other asari to drink.

“Is that necessary?” Javik bit out. This setting was strange and unsettling in its familiarity. The hearth homes of his youth were burned and broken things [far more cramped and utilitarian], but he remembered the quiet of slumber in the dead of night [sigh of hushed dreamers].

“Yes,” Liara replied simply, though when Mathete startled into consciousness, both of them jumped.

“Doctor T’Soni?” The slurred whisper was confused and awed [sparked over the berry blue of her skin]. A small hand reached out and caressed Liara’s [disconcerted] face [Javik wanted to snatch it away]. “You’re really here?”

The bleary wonder was followed by a lurch upward, and Javik blinked [froze] to realise that Mathete had [messily] mashed her mouth against Liara’s [had missed by an inch] and was muttering adulations into her cheek.

There was a jarring moment where he [Javik] wanted to both turn away from the [unacceptable] [unsightly] display and turn towards it with biotics brimming. Disgust pooled at the base of his spine and his [cursed weak] body would not move. 

“Oh!” Liara arched her face away [distress spiking her surroundings] [and oh that made him twitch] as she sought to detangle herself from her [clingy] [presumptive] suitor. “No, stop that.”

Mathete slumped once more into her bed [limp and languid] as Liara [shamed and shaking] bid a hasty retreat. Javik all but tripped to move aside to let her [Liara] pass [escape] and closed the door without hesitation. 

“Oh, how awkward,” she muttered, wiping at her face with her pale sleeve.

Javik’s hand hovered at her back [unsure] [unwise] as she straightened her shoulders and soothed her panic. Tight lines lingered about her eyes as she smoothed imaginary creases in her coat. His knuckles ached [fingers trembled] as Javik clenched his fist, withdrew the hand before Liara turned to see [his protectiveness] [she did not need to know].

“So much for teaching tact,” Javik quipped instead.

A dry scoff was the only response.

.

.

**62.**

Shepard had a way of both defying and confirming any expectations any made of her. It had baffled Liara during those first tenuous weeks on board the Normandy SR-1. Hasty extranet searches on humanity’s first Spectre had only confused the issue to her naïve mind; how could the ‘Orphan of Mindoir’ and the ‘Survivor of Akuze’ be the same keen-eyed, charismatic soldier who’d pulled her from death.

Yet years later, Liara watched as her old friend chuckled at her son’s silly jokes, braiding back his thick, curly hair. The low slung couches were covered in colourful cushions and woven throws, and the lounge walls were covered in framed photos and cheery drawings. Liara sipped her tea and tried to decide if she were more surprised at the effortless display of domesticity, or Shepard’s determination to not let a petty thing like physical limitations inhibit her duty. 

Two rough and undisguised prosthetic limbs, eyepatch, a patchwork of scars and one dimple; any number of robotic and cosmetic companies would have treated her for free. The asari wondered why, exactly, she was surprised that the Commander had turned them all down. 

“So this dig you’re going on,” Shepard said over David’s young head as he pulled a face. “Is it a big deal?”

Liara blinked up from her musing to find three sharp, deep brown eyes trained on her. Like mother, as child, she supposed. 

“No!” Liara bit back an embarrassed chuckle. The mug between her hands was warm and welcome. “No, it is a lucrative site, but we use it more to help third-years get a sense of what field work is like. Most of it will be analysis and mapping.”

It had not taken Eden Prime’s government long to capitalise on the existence of an almost untouched prothean site. Nicknamed the ‘Sleeping Grounds’ by local colonists, the resulting hub of paleotechnological research had brought renown and profit to the colony so repeatedly ravaged by Cerberus and Reapers alike. 

Nonetheless, they would not be rifling through endless cold pods that lined the large crypts. Most of their work would be exploring the technology designed to sustain the bunker. The deep underground hollows, filled with the corpses of Javik’s brethren, had been classified as a burial site by the new Council. Liara had written a letter or two to…encourage the listing.

She did not know if Javik had ever been back there. He’d never mentioned it.

“You’re pulling too tight,” winced David. 

“Am not,” Shepard shushed him as the young human squirmed in his seat. Tsking through her teeth, she glanced her way. “I imagine after finding a live prothean, anything else must be a little dull.”

Liara dipped her chin and tried not to note the flush on her cheeks. The prothean in question was currently outside shooting tin-cans with the best rifles in Garrus Vakarian’s collection. 

“Well, I did have help,” she conceded, pleased at the grin it inspired in her friend. “Maybe if you all came along, I’d get lucky again.”

David whipped his head around at that, and a distressed noise came from Shepard as his half done hair slipped through her mismatched fingers.

“Really? Krip too?” 

Shepard laughed as she pulled her son back to her.

“You’d never get anything done,” she exclaimed, crow lines crinkling around her remaining eye. “Else, heaven forbid, we’d unearth another one.”

Somehow despite her limitations, Shepard managed to wink. Liara put a hand over her grinning mouth. The days spent in close quarters on the Normandy suddenly seemed very far away from this small domestic scene.

“Another what?” David inquired, back straight with interest. “Another Beacon?”

“Another prothean, dear.” Shepard leant forward as she finished off the braid. Liara drank deep from her tea. “Our friend Javik was in a stasis deep under the Sleeping Grounds to the south.”

“Oh.” A deep crease came to his brow, and Liara marvelled at the growing lines of his cheek and jaw reaching through the plumpness of youth. Abruptly, David swivelled in his seat to face his mother. “He’s the Sleeping Ancient?”

Liara blinked as Shepard blinked, and shot a sheepish glance her way. The child stated the phrase like a story.

“Well…”

Comprehension came and made her eyes sparkle.

“Shepard,” Liara leant on her knees, delight crawling through her tone. “Have you made us into children’s tales?”

There was a slight hitch in the human’s shoulders as Shepard chewed the inside of her cheek. David, for his part, just looked curiously between the two of them.

“Well. Sort of,” she begrudgingly admitted. “Garrus started it to help Iura sleep, and the mythology kind of…expanded over time.”

“Tali will be delighted,” Liara hummed.

“Oh, she was,” Shepard laughed. “Made up her own and everything.”

It was not meant as a rebuke for time lost, but a sour ache went through Liara regardless. Her years working against the Atamna had been important. Vital. Meanwhile her companions had built other lives, raised families. There’d always been another mission, another rendezvous or extraction, and Liara had missed birthdays and celebrations and time.

Her fingers clenched around her ceramic mug, decorated with Rannoch’s new sigil. It was no surprise Tali had been dedicated to maintaining those bonds. Was it no surprise then that she, Liara, had thrust them aside for some other fight? Asari had the luxury of longevity, after all.

Somehow, despite her excess of years Liara had become selfish with them, instead of generous.

When she looked up, it was to meet Shepard’s keen gaze.

“You have been a very patient friend,” Liara said quietly, shrugging at her sudden melancholia. “I can’t believe this is the first I’ve visited your home here on Eden Prime.”

“You’re not the only one to not visit,” her friend said kindly. The stark scars along her cheek pulled against her expression, and Liara watched the slow care of her bionic arm finishing her son’s hair. “Wrex refuses to come until I have a thresher maw for him to fight. There we are.”

Checking the ties one last time, Shepard rubbed David’s shoulders and kissed the top of his head. Liara let out a long held breath and tried to shake off her sorrow.

“Thanks Ma,” grinned David, even as he shimmied out of her embrace.

“Humph, getting too big for me to wrestle,” Shepard grumbled. “Go check your father hasn’t rigged the garden with explosives again. And that Krip hasn’t snuck out of bed to help him.” 

He nodded and trotted away. Shepard set her good hand against her knee and grimaced when she tried to rise.

As her pulse leapt, Liara was on her feet in an instant and reaching out to her.

“No, no don’t help me,” Shepard waved the asari off, displeasure scrawled across her frown. “I’ll manage fine.”

Biting her lip, Liara stepped back as Shepard eased herself into standing with a grunt of pain. Rubbing her crest, she studied the turn of Shepard’s posture, the weight she kept from her prosthetic leg and the uncomfortable twist of her spine.

“Your prosthetics should not be hurting so,” she said as Shepard raised an arm to pull at her shoulder. “Surely Miranda could-“

“Its fine,” Shepard repeated as Liara followed her shaky steps toward the kitchen. “It just takes a moment. I’m only human after all.”

Her friend paused to stretch out her back and wriggle her artificial limbs.

Placing her empty mug by the sink, Liara tried not to watch Shepard’s well-worn ritual, listened to the small purr of mechanics that made up her limbs.

“Still,” Liara started after a moment. “If it’s the cost I could…”

That made Shepard pause and then curl a dry grin her way, white teeth flashing as she leant on the kitchen counter.

“No, it’s sheer stubbornness more than anything. There’s not much more they can do without redoing the cybernetics.” Shepard held her artificial hand out, palm up. There was no silicon epidermis to hide the ceramic shell, only colourful, childish scrawls. 

Wiggling her fingers, Shepard turned her hand over. Liara had read all of Miranda Lawson’s files regarding her second resurrection. Still, that her friend seemed so content to wear the marks of surgery and battle for all to see seemed bold, even for Shepard. She’d always held her cards to her chest. Watching as the human’s gaze turning long and distant, Liara wondered what kind of reminder Shepard drew from her hurts. 

A short chuckle erupted from Shepard’s throat, and Liara looked up from studying the joints of her wrist to meet a fearless gaze.

“It’s my body, Liara,” Shepard said softly. “I’m tired of it being cut up and altered.”

Liara looked down at her own hands. Even now she did not know if she had done the right thing all those years ago, in handing over the body of her lover to a rogue organization in the faint, far-fetched hope Cerberus could bring her back.

Perhaps she had been selfish. She had certainly not been able to see past her own grief and desperation. Had never thought what it would mean to wake up from death, body bright and new and burning. 

“And here I thought you just liked the eyepatch,” Liara managed to quip. 

Shepard huffed, still as perceptive and as kind. She moved around the counter to grasp Liara’s blue hands with her own mismatched pair. Blinking back her guilt and grief that again had rolled around to plague the moment, Liara managed a smile.

“Well, it does make me look quiet dashing,” Shepard agreed, russet skin mottled by scars and sacrifice. And yet, somehow Shepard seemed more whole than Liara had ever known her.

It was not the strange, interwoven comfort Javik and Liara tentatively offered one another. That was something so new and different she hardly knew how to understand it. 

“I’m sure Garrus appreciates it,” Liara said, ignoring the strange twist in her stomach. 

Chuckling, Shepard squeezed her hands. Oh, it made Liara miss her friend. Face hot, Liara stepped back and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I think he appreciates being able to compare battle scars,” Shepard snickered, letting her go with grace. “I’m very glad you came to visit. Both of you.”

Of course, that did not help with the tears.

“Sorry,” Liara said, still trying to clean her face. “I seem to be in a sentimental mood.”

“There is nothing wrong with that,” chided the Commander, leaning forward to press a quick kiss on her cheek.

“Please tell me you’re not trying to seduce my wife, T’Soni,” came a dry drawl. Liara jumped, blue faced and blushing as Garrus sauntered towards them; Krip on one hip and David in hand with a stone-faced prothean trailing behind.

“I’ll have you know the seducing was all me,” sniffed Shepard, nose in the air and arms folded. Liara covered her face with a hand and tried not to giggle.

“You’re trading me in for a younger, prettier trophy spouse?” The twang in Garrus’ voice sounded almost offended. “Already?”

“There are some performance issues I’m frustrated by.” Shepard waggled her eyebrows suggestively, cocking her hip to one side. Young David looked on in vague exasperation as the displeased bent of Javik’s mouth dipped lower.

The indignant, turian squawk that sounded was drowned out by a small krogan roar as Krip launched himself from his father’s grip. Bouncing off the floor, the small ball of orange darted to Liara to clutch her leg. Krip smiled toothily up at her, so of course Liara had to pick him up for a cuddle.

“I’ll show you performance issues.” And then Garrus swooped in on Shepard, dipping her into a gallant, passionate kiss that had his wife laughing breathlessly. Krip was pulling faces for her entertainment as she tickled his belly.

Liara looked up from her own giggles to see a grumpy looking Javik and an unperturbed David. The young human tugged on Javik’s hand and gazed up with a resigned expression.

“Is everyone’s family this ridiculous?” David asked with a sigh.

Liara caught the small glance sent her way before Javik patted the boy’s head in awkward, silent sympathy.

.

.

**63.**

Without deliberate thought, his wayward feet led him to Liara’s door.

Javik blinked at that [confused] [inevitable]. There were hooks in his hearts [tugging and tearing] pulling at his senses and his sense. This [place] was new [old] terrain.

Since their arrival this morning he and Liara had identified several possible exit routes, and Javik had identified at least two defensible points at the dig site should the worst eventuate. He did not know the pattern of the locals [could not tell habits from irregularities] [danger]. Which shadows held hidden assassins or else just places where Liara’s students gossiped and giggled?

[There was gnawing at the base of his spine].

If Javik was careless, his secondary eyes would pick up [lost] [familiar] [ghosts] shapes of his people, studiously assessing the lay of the land or busy over their duties. He would taste their billowing devotion and dedication [make stronger, mightier] [Victory], only to look up to find that no, he [Javik] was reading this cycle’s scientists [human] [asari] and researchers [salarian] [turian] [like an addled simpleton]. 

At his chest, the Echo Shard hummed.

Gritting his teeth, Javik shook his head [the haze remained]. Perhaps it had been a mistake to come here. As soon as he’d stepped off the shuttle [frozen by that blue sky] [the smell of pine-bark and wheat], fear [yes fear] had struck him. For a moment, he’d been waking anew again [alone and lost] [bubbling with vengeance].

His hands ached [like old wounds before a storm]. Javik was weak here [unsafe]. He did not know the terrain [they’d set him up too far from her]. It had been a [foolish] mistake [to think he could deal with change], no matter how satisfying it had been to leave [the cloying bureaucracy of] Illium. Kirot had warned him.

Still, Liara would have to come with him [his feet had led him here for a purpose]. Undoubtedly she’d be stubborn about it. 

Raising one hand, Javik rapped smartly on her pre-fab room door [concern running over his occiput]. He waited in anxious agony for a response [what if something had already happened?]. 

The pale door slip open to reveal a puzzled Liara, clad only in a light robe over her night-wear [hung too loosely over her shoulders] [too high over her thighs]. Why was she not wearing armour?

“Javik,” she started [surprise lit over her cheeks]. “Is everything alright?”

He opened his mouth to speak, only to find it dry and raspy [as if there were pebbles under his tongue].

“Yes.” The words were short [stuttering] as wariness shook his limbs. “It…I was just…” 

Concern now bubbled over Liara’s crest and [kindly] gaze, and Javik hated that his weakness had bled through [like a trembling child] [he was a soldier]. The last prothean straightened his back and gnashed his teeth, but found nothing but a sound of distress in his throat.

Her lips twisted into a frown [billowing with half formed understanding] as she stepped back [he almost followed].

“Would you like to come in?” Liara asked quietly, one hand clasped to her chest.

That seemed unwise [was it safe] [was it a trap]. Javik jerked his head aside.

“No,” he managed to snap out. Her eyes were wide with worry [for him] [it was too much]. “It is late. I…”

“Javik,” Liara cut him off, a sliver of steel in her will to make him listen. “I cannot help if you do not speak to me.”

“It’s this place.” As soon as he said, Javik wished he had not [but her tone had rung with command] [determined lines about her mouth and eyes]. The echoes of his memory would [should] be reined in; he would not fall victim to them.

He clacked his teeth and averted his gaze [heat welling under his eyes and at his throat]. The lack of discipline in himself was unbearable; Javik turned away to conceal it [from her]. 

“Eden Prime?” Still, Liara’s voice was gentle from where it reached for him [she reached for him].

“It was not called that in my cycle,” Javik sighed, a bitter taste on his tongue [and within his chest].

“No.” She did not argue the matter, of which he was glad. Likely he would respond [instinctively] in anger [and he knew enough now that it would be to mask fear].

Rolling his [sore] shoulders, Javik lifted his chin to study the [unfamiliar] stars. Even in the depths of the evening, lights flickered from within the hastily erected research centre. Behind the loose collection of prefab units rose the remnants of the city that once [had failed to] protected and obscured Victory’s bunkers from Reaper attention. The echoes of his people were but faint whispers on the surface [still he sought them]. That would change, Javik knew, once they descended into the bunkers.

“I have circled this camp five times,” he said [at last] over his shoulder, fighting the urge to toe at the ground. “Still, I do not feel at ease.”

Liara remained silent; the push of her concern was not surprising [but welcome?]. Javik huffed to himself, hands clasped at his back as he attempted to untangle the knots in his brain and belly [this place was a grave for his people] [an unfamiliar skyline].

_Their sacrifice will be honoured in the coming Empire._

A slight scuff of dirt alerted him to the asari’s approach. She did not touch him, but Liara stepped close enough for Javik to feel the press of it [for intimacy] [should he choose it].

“Is it the safety of this location that is bothering you, or the site itself?”

[Ah] [Liara] Always asking questions [it curled his mouth] [skipped his pulse]. 

Still, [how weak for the answer to be both] Javik found himself reluctant to make his admission. To bear such weak flesh to a primitive [no] [to Liara] was a yet another crack in the [already thin and brittle] shell of his prothean pride. 

“We are well guarded. A number of different organisations are invested in keeping this place safe,” Liara assured him [what she’d ascertained from his silence he dreaded to know]. The corner of his eyes revealed the tilt of her blue head [his fingers twitched]. “And I was quite methodical in checking out the staff here.”

[Of course]. There was some relief [approval] in that. For all she’d relinquished most of the Shadow Broker’s authority, the asari kept meticulous tabs on their safety. 

Still, in his gut stirred turmoil.

“And yet those who guard us are inadequate, and the site, too open,” Javik hissed, shoulder tight as [yet] another [unwilling] admission slid from behind his teeth. “I have grown used to having you close.”

[Damn].

[Damndamndamn].

He would not look at her [burned with embarrassment]; Liara had gone still and quiet beside him, and Javik was in no collected mind [buzzing] [flailing] [falling] to assess her reaction.

But her fingers pressed against his bicep and Liara pulled him around to face her. A worried crease marred her forehead and Javik bit his [treacherous] tongue least any more [truths] fall loose. He concentrated his [cautious] gaze over her shoulder [blue peeking out from her robe].

“Javik.” A hand reached up [careful in its approach] and her pale palm rested against his cheek [soft and smooth and soothing]. 

How absurd, yet Javik felt no need to flinch [despite the quickening of his pulse]. All he read from her [Liara] was care and uncertainty and comfort [she was reaching for him] [as much as she could]. 

Caught by her clear eyes [felt his own lids flutter closed], Javik struggled with the warmth of her palm [the small hitch in her breath]. For a moment [just a moment], he let himself lean into her holding [protection]. Her thumb caressed the ridge of his cheek.

An aborted giggle [from afar] broke the spell, and the frantic shushing of students hiding out of sight reminded Javik [reluctantly] that they were out in the open. Liara blushed beautifully] [he wanted to capture that colour]. Javik cleared his throat. 

“Asari, do not fall into excessive sentiment on me,” he said [mumbled] into her palm, voice hitching over the lump in his throat [made no attempt to move]. “It is unbecoming.”

Liara pressed her lips together and withdrew her hand, slowly and without shame.

“And I was so close to swooning too,” she quipped back, batting her lashes even as she cradled her hand over her heart [that warmed his bones]. He smelt the shiver that ran over her shoulders. 

“I could tell,” Javik snorted, still watching [could not stop watching] the freckles over her cheeks, the inscrutable expression along her jaw. He should not linger. He swallowed. “I should go.”

Her features twisted at that [an old note of longing] and Liara’s hands tightened against her chest as he made [had] to step away. All the blood in his body told him to stay. 

“Wait,” she called, and Javik froze [and that perplexed and alarmed him].

Still, the etched alarm [paranoia] [fear] along his back had only eased a little. Javik knew that the echoes of the protheans [wandering through their fallen city] would be harder to banish. The last time he’d seen this sky, the Reapers were blotting out the sun.

[Damn her open expression and her care and the deep blue of her bottom lip caught between her nervous teeth].

“I…merely wanted to ascertain your safety,” Javik muttered [clasped his hands tighter]. “I will not hold you up further.”

He could not leave [would not] without her [Liara]. Long ago the Commander had told him to let old ghosts rest, and Javik had tried [he really had]. This planet [this grave] he would endure.

.

.

**64.**

Underneath the surface of the Sleeping Grounds, through the complex ruins of laboratories, quarters and workshops meant to mask the bunkers, rows and rows of silent, empty crypts stretched out in terrible uniformity.

It reminded Liara of the Temple of Athame. 

Not the burning wreckage as she’d last seen it, but the elegant sanctuary her mother had sung and uttered benedictions. When silence consumed the temple, in thought and prayer, whispers of the Goddess were said to come to the pure. As a child, the press of memory and time had seemed a cavernous void ready to swallow her whole. 

Benezia had hailed it hallowed and sacred, but the Goddess’s murmurs had frightened a young Liara. While her mother had bowed her head in deep contemplation, Liara had covered her auriculars to block them out. 

A slow shiver ran from back to crest as the sound of her footsteps bounced over the endless halls. The same heavy shroud that had alarmed her as a child hung over each and every still and silent pod that lined the vaults of this facility. Liara would be lying if she claimed not to be a little overwhelmed. 

Still, though she’d not been down here alone, she had been down here, and Liara had a fair idea of where Javik had hidden himself.

Gripping the packet meal trays she carried, the asari tracked the rows and rows and rows of silent pods and tried not to think of them as graves. No ruin she’d ever unearthed before held the same sense of foreboding. Even the upper levels, the ones where extraction was permitted, did not carry the same weight on the stagnant air below. 

Liara was glad when she finally approached the doorway, pried open by Javik and her some three weeks ago. The assembly room beyond was wide and gloomy, lit only by the eezo lantern placed deliberately in the centre of the carved floor.

“I brought you dinner,” she said to the silent, seated figure in the small halo of artificial light. “You haven’t eaten anything all day.”

“And how would you know?” Javik rumbled, voice scratchy as he stirred from his reverie. Hands resting on his knees and posture rigid, the prothean made no other acknowledgement of her arrival.

Liara huffed, and sat down beside him.

“Well, have you?” She waited a moment for his argument, but when none came, Liara handed him the covered tray without preamble. “It’s fish, supposedly. I can’t vouch for its quality, but it is untampered with.”

A loud scoff sounded, followed by the crinkle of foil. Liara eyed him, noting the dark stains under his eyes and tense lines at his mouth and jaw. Lips pressed together, she peeled back the cover of her own meal and stuck a fork into the gloopy mess.

“Have you been taking your medication?” Liara asked, eyeing the colourless lump on her fork and listening for the rustle of Javik’s indignation.

“Of course,” Javik grumbled. “Have you?”

“Naturally,” she replied archly, grimacing as she took a mouthful of food.

The scrape of plastic cutlery against foil proved a disconcerting tune to the dark wide cavern that yawned over their small circle of light. Glancing over at Javik revealed a sneer that remained despite his methodical consumption of the packet meal, shoulders tense against the gloom. The tableau seemed endless and old, and Liara was suddenly very glad that she had come to find Javik.

“I ate better meals on a battlefront,” the prothean muttered, and Liara snorted at the truth of it. 

“Upstairs, I had someone try to bribe me with smuggled confectionary for better marks,” agreed the asari, feeling the puff of his amusement. She was glad to hear it. “I somewhat regret not taking up the offer.”

Javik nodded, chin lifting as he stared up at the jagged edges of the high-vaulted ceiling. Liara bit her lip and tried to think of a way to breach the distant veil he’d drawn about himself. Of course coming to the site where he’d slept for fifty thousand years had the potential to hurt him; they’d talked it over. Javik had assured her that it would not impede his ability to help the excavation.

Looking at him now, Liara wondered how entirely he’d succeeded in deceiving himself.

“I addressed my lieutenants in this room,” Javik’s voice rang loud and strong so much that she jumped. He sent a side glance her way, corner of his mouth twitching as he addressed the cavern. “Hand-picked and loyal fighters. Fierce, and devoted to the Empire.”

Liara bit her tongue. Javik toyed with the remains of his food. 

“For decades this planet had endure the Reapers assault. We let them burn our homes and corrupt our people to hide Victory, and our true purpose.” His deep voice grit over the sacrifice. It caught her breath. “And even after all that, on the eve of our hibernation, our ranks were breached and broken.”

He turned his face down and away, and Liara saw the suspect shudder of his shoulders. 

She remembered Thessia. Standing in the Temple as the floor beneath them crumbled and thick smoke clogged the sky. Lieutenant Kurin screaming on the comm-link for her soldiers to soldier on. The hopelessness and rage both boiling in her heart as Shepard roared at them to get a move on. 

“We were meant to be the last victory of the Empire,” Javik seethed, teeth sharp and eyes shadowed. “Bourne from its ashes to take vengeance on the abominations that murdered us and left me-” 

A choke cut off his words and Liara’s heart lurched at the dip of his head. His knuckles were bone-pale on fists gripped against his knees, teeth bare. Liara’s throat was stuck with stones, for all that Javik would not welcome her pity.

It was not pity though; she loved him and could not bear to see him and his sorrows so consuming.

Setting aside her empty meal tray, Liara shifted in her seat to face him.

“Javik,” she said, or tried to through the sudden hot swell of emotion that burned at her eyes. He blinked slowly, but did not turn. Liara licked her lips and tried again. “Javik, do not read your people’s sacrifice as failure.”

That jerked up his head, but Liara had already leant over. Braced one hand on his far shoulder and one on his cheek even as Javik’s wide and frantic eyes found hers. A heavy beat ran through her chest and temples as she waited for Javik to push her away.

He did not.

“You are not alone, Javik,” Liara uttered huskily, taken by how his desperate, gold gaze searched hers. Wet tracks ran down her cheeks, but she did not mark it. Only his solid body felt real under her palms. “And you and yours did not fail. You gave us hope.”

A small, pained gasp escaped from Javik’s throat, and Liara burned as she tried to wipe the defeat from under his eyes. Fingers gripped his pauldron and Liara abandoned propriety to draw Javik close. Set her chin on his shoulder and wound her arms around him and tried to push everything he meant to her into her skin for him to read.

Javik inhaled sharply, and Liara felt his face move against her collar-bone. Her hip cut uncomfortably into the faulds over his hip and thigh. 

“Do not think there is nothing in this cycle for you,” Liara mumbled into his armour, nails digging at the plating on his back. The buzz of his presence felt warm where they pressed together. 

“So sentimental,” Javik sighed shakily into her shoulder, bringing up one tentative hand to touch her waist.

Liara only held him tighter.

.

.

**65.**

Excavation teams probed the halls of [what once had been] a munitions factory, treading lightly over paths that once brimmed with bustle. Liara, as ever, was in the thick of it [dirt dusting her face], and every time Javik spotted her he was struck by the bright spark of her zeal [elemental and elated].

[And oh did his guts twist at her smile] [wrapped tight with the regard she’d regaled to him down in the deep]. 

Yet, the informality of the Sleeping Grounds irked him [too casual and collective]; Javik remembered lines of command and each life measured and prioritised and [brutally] valued accordingly. Here, students and researchers and assistants bustled about in hierarchies made of their own socialising.

Javik clacked his teeth at his work station [cluttered with screens and tangled leads], staring at the VI tablet drive. Liara had asked him to extract what data could be salvaged [had asked him to be nicer to her students]. So of course he had complied.

Mathete [berry blue and blushing] skittered around him like frightened prey from behind those she’d attached herself too. There was the turian [Aecus], a few humans, and another asari that gave him [Javik] no end of trouble.

“Chalit swore that’s what she saw.”

“Chalit is a gossip with no manners.”

Glancing up at the chatter, Javik hid an impatient sigh; he found them all so [infuriating] [unbearable] young. Heads bent together, the small group had either forgotten his presence in the tent or misjudged the superiority of his hearing [careless] [he could kill them all less than a moment]. 

A mixed blessing perhaps [for this moment], for the subject for their [inane and tedious] debate made him scowl. 

Of course, Liara was engrossed with her data extraction [leaving him to endure this trial alone]. Shoulders pinched, Javik seethed that again he’d sought to make her his shield [a soldier is a weapon]. He ought to be stronger.

“Do not let my presence deter your chatter,” Javik sneered through his teeth, focusing on the streams of corrupted data that ran over his screens. “Especially when I am the subject of it.”

The effect was almost instant [guilty looks] [startled horror] [the turian toppled a tray in his alarm]. [They would be torn to shreds should war find them]. [Unfortunately] they [mostly] recovered quickly enough [Mathete looked close to wilting]. He wished they would scatter [in terror]. 

“One that note, Messere Javik,” the other asari [older, violet-marked] [Thraye? Tharsys?] turned from labelling samples and levelled him a shrewd smirk [he took warning]. “Did you happen to count how many corsages Doctor T’Soni received during this past Janiris?”

His jaw clicked as it clenched. Ignored their [probing, crackling] scrutiny. 

“A number,” Javik answered tersely, placing his fingers over the [worn and warping] prothean VI drive on the stand [felt the trace of knowledge from those before]. 

“But was it a large or a small number?” The asari’s grin cut the air.

A cold shiver rand down his spine [was it the arrogance] [or the artefact] and his knuckles felt strung sore. 

Grunting, Javik hooked up the modified ports [as Liara had shown him] to the ancient [as he] piece of tech. The screens blinked to life, each bringing forth one of the many [mangled] layers of [supreme and superior] prothean communication tech. It was strange [eerie] to see the tools [corpses] of his time so degraded [crumbling]. 

Her baffled expression at the flower clusters, spilling over her desk and chair, swam to the forefront of his thoughts [his own pile had not been insubstantial either].

“Thrasyes,” stammered Mathete [shrill and sharp] came with the scrabbling of data-pads and tools. “You shouldn’t pry.”

“Did she gift one to anybody?” The turian wondered out loud. His [Javik] hands paused [thought of the flower wreath thrust over his head] [pearl-white petals] [her offered palm]. “Did you gift her one at all?”

Sour bile bit the back of Javik’s throat [he wanted to find her] and his tongue touched his [sharp] teeth [do your duty] [do nothing else]. It was a grim indicator of the state of his mind that such provocation should pierce his patience.

Of his endurance, too [the lurch of his distress found him wanting] [arms wrapped tight] [a buffer].

“I fail to see the usefulness of this questioning,” Javik answered stiffly. Their amusement was obvious [blowing at his back] [hot air and bluster] [they felt so safe and sure]. It galled him.

“I just wanted to know if she got mine,” Thrasyes mused wistfully, pouting where her chin rested against her palm.

“They were all thrown out, regardless,” Javik sniped, pleasure pricking at the impatient huff [hovering hurt] it provoked. He did not want to talk to these children [wanted to go].

“Even yours?” Her marks twisted with the bent of her spite [competiveness and relevance clawed at her desires] as [mild] Mathete squawked in horror at her presumption.

[Pathetic]. [Liara deserved better admirers].

He was saved from disabusing the little wretch from her misconception by the rustle of the tent flap and the [welcome] thread of mhya and lilac that swept in. Liara smiled brightly when she spotted him [the younglings hushed and humming], brushing past to peer at the broken tablet drive.

“Found anything salvageable?” 

Moving to let her look, Javik mused at the grace of her presence [it sparked over her skin and under her eyes]. Already the mood of the tent had shifted [still wary] [less anxious]. Javik was not in the habit of mocking his inferiors [only those that overstepped]; he was glad of her arrival. 

“As if this cycle has not been ‘salvaging’ the tech of my people for centuries.” 

Liara huffed dryly at his gestured quotation marks, and Javik scoffed.

“Traces of the VI for this facility remain. Not enough to resurrect it,” he drawled, watching Liara trace a finger from one screen to the next to link the connections [fluent in the translation]. “It was named Veracity.”

Behind them, their [tepid] audience held the air with their scrutiny. 

“You said there were likely more drives hidden throughout the facility?” Liara scrolled through the data, biting her lip in distraction [it was distracting].

“Yes.” Javik inclined his head [for her], monitoring the students in his periphery [for the arrogance and crassness] [did not trust them]. They were searching for scandal where they would not find it. 

“Well, at least we know what to look out for now,” Liara nodded happily, stepping back [their arms brushed]. Her [keen] glance at the [watching] room was pointed. “Is everything else running smoothly?”

“Fine!” Mathete squeaked [fear and fervent]. The turian beside her patted her back. Distaste rolled over Javik’s tongue. 

“Messere Javik was just telling us how you celebrated Janiris together.” Thrasyes’ indigo eyes were wide with [feigned] innocence and [cruel] curiosity.

“Oh?” The flutter of Liara’s surprise was light and dipped with scepticism [unfurled orange behind her neck and hands]. She sent an [inquiring] arch glance his way that he had read before.

Javik narrowed his gaze and let the twitch of his mouth [the points of his posture] tell her the game this [quick and careless] asari was [inelegantly] attempting to play.

“Which I found strange,” continued Thrasyes [oblivious to her own unravelling]. “Given that you purport that Janiri was an ancient prothean. Is that not a little contradictory?”

A bark of laughter [of brittle scorn] erupted off his tongue, loud enough to make the students [Mathete, mostly] jump and Liara scowl.

“I wished to observe what the asari had done with their guidance,” Javik let his line of his teeth show. Uncertainty crept through Thrasyes at his disdain [as if he and Liara had not already argued themselves dry over it]. “I was unsurprisingly disappointed.” 

Placing one hand on his forearm [to hold him back], Liara turned to her student [abhorrent admirer] and smiled sweetly enough to make Mathete sigh [little lovelorn fool].

“Alternatively,” she interjected [fingers pressed into his arm in warning] [to play nice]. “It is a good example of how the asari took prothean guidance and modified it to their own vision.” 

With a dazzling glance, Liara all but dragged him from the tent [he allowed it] [enjoyed the frustration under her genial expression.

“Your students are ridiculous,” he told her without preamble [pleased again to be at her side].

“You’ve only just noticed?” Liara pursed her lips [patience tried] and led him away to some less populated hall. He [moodily] let her [still rankled by the games played by students] [such disrespect warranted a beating]. 

“If they are not writing poetry about your freckles they plot to seduce you as some kind of prize,” Javik sneered [lamenting the long gone discipline of the Empire].

Liara looked askance [damn his tongue].

“My freckles, is it?” Surprise and humour crisscrossed her scent. Liara shook her head [grip on his arm tightening]. 

Javik [cursed himself] let out a puff of dissatisfaction, and ignored her [pleased] smirk.

.

.

 **66.**

Eden Prime looked crisp and clean as the transport shuttle left the plush garden world behind in favour for the stars. Elsewhere, her colleagues and students chattered, tired and eager to return to the spires of Illium after months away. 

Sighing, Liara rubbed her arms and wondered what exactly inspired the deep, slow pulse tucked under her ribs midst the clatter of space-flight.

“Are you glad to see it go?” She asked, not taking her gaze from the retreating view. In the seat opposite, Javik stirred from where he lightly dozed.

“No more than the last time.” The prothean did not open his eyes, but the muscles under them tightened, and his biceps tensed before he answered.

Liara tracked the rise and fall of his chest, deliberately even in his feigned composure. The spectre of Sleeping Grounds and all it represented had cracked something of the shell that Javik kept himself enclosed in. Had shifted her understanding.

The corners of his mouth drew down, pulling down the red line that spilled over his lip and chin.

No matter how she tried, Liara could not grasp what it must have meant to return to a place where, fifty thousand years ago, had been alive and fighting. From the shuttle, the scars cut onto the planet were barely visible, faded with time and repair. 

They had not spoken of his despair in the crypts of the Sleeping Grounds; Liara had felt enough the ink-dark well of Javik’s hurt. She was not vain enough to think that all her care could fill it up entirely.

“You’re brooding,” Javik said, snapping Liara to the realisation that she had, in fact, been staring. Ducking her head, Liara cleared her throat.

“I’ve been a hypocrite,” she sighed, knuckles tight on her lap. “Asking you to come digging through the ruins of your Empire. Especially when I’ve not yet returned to Thessia.”

In the dark window, the gold eyes of his reflection flickered open as Javik inclined his head so slightly.

“Was there any need?”

“Some,” she admitted, scratching her nail over the creases of her thumb. “By rights I should have gone back to personally manage the holdings my mother left me.”

Even after the death of Benezia, Liara had only returned to her childhood home once. No sooner had she set foot in the door had her mother’s ancient steward begun spouting spiels on legacy, heritage and politics. Liara had set her jaw, signed the documents saying she did not contest her mother’s long and convoluted will, and left without hesitation.

Now, though, she could not even imagine Thessia past the roar of klaxons. 

“Do you have a desire to?” Javik’s voice curled calm over her musings.

“No.” It was the truth. The steward had survived, and Liara had managed her estate as best she cared to. Donated much of her inherited wealth to the learning for labour rebuilding scheme she’d set up with the krogan. Still, Liara could not imagine again walking the streets of her childhood in this new galaxy.

Thessia had yet to forgive her errant daughter, after all. She looked up at Javik and shrugged.

“Then it is not hypocritical,” he decided, gaze level where it met hers. “I wished to see the remains of my people. To honour and remember them.”

Her pulse seemed loud and clumsy where it jumped at his words. She remembered another shuttle, years ago and midst a fierce fight for a hopeless cause. When much less affection was held between them, and Javik had promised to write a book with her as a distraction from her terror.

How far they had both come.

“You are braver than I, for that,” Liara smiled. A lump was in her throat as he tilted his head in acknowledgement.

Her lungs felt large and tight as she watched him shuffle in his seat again. Outside, Eden Prime sunk back into the stars.

“If the time comes where you desire to return to Thessia,” Javik grumbled softly, settling back in repose. “I will go with you.”

Liara blinked, breath caught at his quiet declaration. The pressure in her chest unfurled to wind around her ribs and spine like ivy. Crept up under her crest until Liara could taste the shaky elation.

Javik, arms folded and unperturbed, returned to his restless doze as Liara’s tongue sought to catch up to the message her head had just transcribed. Goddess knew what Javik read from her now. 

Hugging her arms, Liara leant to rest her crest against cool wall behind her. Blinked at the humming in her bones and the laughter that threatened to break free from her throat. 

How long had she hidden this from herself?

Too long, probably.

“Thank you,” she said, tongue tripping over the three word phrase her beating heart still stumbled to acknowledge.

Javik grunted. Liara smiled and tucked her revelation away like a jewel. They had time, after all, for her to learn it better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, here's another chapter done.
> 
> I had a bit of difficulty writing this one, though I really enjoyed the process. As ever, I'm a little concerned about the consistency of tone, but I really wanted to show a bit of the complexity of Liara's academic career and reputation. Hopefully her students don't come off as too ridiculous :P.
> 
> And Shepard! Writing her again was lots of fun. I'm contemplating doing a side fic to this one about what's going on in and around, but who knows if I'll ever get there.
> 
> A massive thank you to Koorii who did the most amazing art of the last chapter, found [here](http://grizzlyhorns.tumblr.com/post/142825939084/head-dipped-so-low-his-chin-hit-his-chest-javik) . It's absolutely beautiful, and I cannot express enough how touched I was by the effort and care put into it.
> 
>  **Edit 9/05:** Fixed the link!
> 
> Glossary:
> 
> Atamna: Athame high priestesses  
> Arthana: Thessia’s capital city. Where the Temple of Athme was located.  
> Chahhu: Asari biotic dance routine.  
> Fyaer: Thessian thorned flower.  
> Kamada: Prothean word for the imperial court.  
> Maalume: Prothean overseers/moral managers.  
> Marbar Ya: Prothean word for the carers of young.  
> Shihiid: Martyr  
> Soaxiib: Prothean word for comrade, typically referring to experienced, familiar military teams.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are on edge,” observed Javik, quiet in a way that spelt danger.
> 
> It took a moment for Liara to respond, still searching the crowd as she was. Shaking her head, Liara let loose an unsteady breath, and wound her arm loosely around Javik’s.

.

.

**67.**

“Your aim is a little off.”

Javik scowled [at the truth of it] and adjusted his grip on the Striker Assault Rifle, not taking his eyes off the hanging targets of the shooting range.

“There is precious little to shoot at a dig site,” grumbled the prothean [an excuse], but the warped trajectory of his bullets bit out his distemper. More-so because the [composed] krogan next to him would not let it [or anything] be.

Doctor Kirot Elpida [dark like black glass] [head plate chipped and marked with brittle age] raised his own bulky rifle. Thick arms [bare from the cut of his cloth] easily mastered the vicious recoil [whip-crack loud] as his own target was customarily obliterated. 

“The Striker’s not for everyone,” rumbled the old krogan, yellow eyes glinting with humour. Insinuation [and inadequacy] ground Javik’s teeth as Kirot set the butt of his [heavy] rifle on the ground and caressed the muzzle [like a lover]. “How was it then, Eden Prime?”

Mechanics whirled as the targets spun away to be replaced with fresh sheets. Javik checked and reloaded his rifle [kept his hands busy]. What revelations [or lack of] he’d had at Eden Prime and the Sleeping Grounds seemed only to highlight how shallow the legacy of his people was [cold floors and endless halls] [scraps of data and fragments of tech].

Where marked the prothean devotion to strength and advancement? The pride in executing one’s duty [executing it well]? The canticles of past Avatars ringing from planet to planet?

“Less then what I expected.”

No answer to his people’s fall [failing] had been found in those dank tombs; nothing that revealed the merciless curve of the Cosmic Imperative [primitives pawing at his past]. Only old regrets and memories and-

Well. There had been one revelation.

[Warm and welcome] [and so utterly foreign to comprehend] [cherished]. Javik bared his teeth [to cover his confusion] [to show his rage].

His krogan caretaker was not so impressed.

“Are you going to be honest with me, or am I going to have to come over there and beat the truth out of you?” Kirot’s scorn [jagged toothed and billowing] cut through the peculiar turn of Javik’s thoughts like a hunting knife through flesh. 

“It was a wreck, krogan,” Javik snarled [glass shards of jagged grief at his throat] [masking the wonder]. He’d strived so to bury the swell of hopelessness that had arisen. “A reminder of all the ways I failed and that everything I once fought for is now dust and ruin.”

He punctuated the point by hefting up the Striker and firing five rounds into the fresh target. Blood pounded at his temples as hurt crowded his lungs [fire and ozone sharp on the air]. 

For a moment, both stared at the target. All but one of his shots had missed the vital zone.

“Failure is the lesson, victory the reward,” Kirot shifted his bulk where he stood [onyx hump high and heavy]. “How did this reminder taste, prothean?”

Javik peered down the barrel to set up his next shot, and bared his teeth [you are a soldier]. Tried not to think of the acrid tang of turned [perverted] protheans, clawing and catching [screaming as they were torn into abomination]. All that now nothing but diversions for this current cycle.

“Like ashes.”

The fire-burst was familiar [smell sharp of hot metal and fire], but no comfort. His aim was unremarkably better, but it was a sour victory on his tongue [there were no abominations here to slay].

Kirot grunted [impatient and cautious], blowing air out his nostrils as he sauntered forward for his turn. 

“You still struggle with the memory of your clan,” the krogan’s top lip curled [long and languid] as he settled the [wretchedly difficult] rifle [comfortably] under his arm. “Their accomplishments will always taste hollow to you if all you remember is their failure.”

“What else is worth remembering?” Javik spat. “Even with all our might…”

His vitriol quickly faded [like everything] [inevitable]. Kirot did not care for his [pathetic] tantrums [decimated the target without error]. Turning, the large krogan made a mock bow as Javik stepped up to the firing post [fingers twitching]. The level of incompetence to which he’d sunk was galling [we were nothing but the weapons we wielded]. 

Javik grit his teeth [at the ancient echo] and lined the shot.

“What, in those ruins, did your asari find worth in?” 

Gun fire burst forth and Javik cursed. Kirot, for his [wretched] part looked on in muted innocence [victory curling under his chin].

“Why does that matter?” His teeth gnashed at the wild line of bullet holes that led away from the target.

“Your shot went wide at the mention of the doctor,” Kirot answered with no small measure of smugness [damn him]. “You have said before you find value in her.”

A point in his shoulders twitched. That was true [an understatement].

“In her skills, and her cunning.” Javik ran his tongue over his teeth; that was not quite right [not all] [not by far]. “She is kind.”

Kirot grunted [ever the sceptic], but did not advance to the firing post. His thick fingers ran over the [white gold] [delicate and dear] ornamentation at his wrists [old affection and fondness unfurling].

“Asari hold a strange world view,” he rumbled [a tender note threaded through his wisdom]. Javik straightened his back [rubbed his sore knuckles]. “To them, it is inevitable that all things will fade with time, before being respawned by the universe.”

“An optimistic theory.” He could not say he recognised such a philosophy in Liara [so fierce and afraid]. Her blue eyes were ever focused on potential [the possibility of the present] [the future’s promise].

[The dreams of the past].

“A brave one,” asserted Kirot, jagged face stern and solemn. Distant [now with fraught experience and aged sorrow]. “Krogan so rarely reach their full life span. Yet, asari embrace the knowledge that they will likely outlast those they love, and embrace them all the same.” 

Again, Javik could not [completely] reconcile such a view with the asari he was so familiar with [fond of] [attached to]. If anything, Liara had railed [tooth and nail] against the idea that what was lost was always so.

Just look at him [her refusal to accept his mediocrity] [his fading]. She’d latched on with her fingernails and refused to let despair take him [he esteemed her for it]. Kirot watched and Kirot studied, almost impatient [spiked and sure] that again he had to make this point. 

“So again,” asked the old krogan. “What is it about your people that your krantt finds such value in?”

Javik cracked his jaw and looked down at the heavy [unwieldy] rifle in his hands. Liara had been fierce [conviction sharp and expansive] in the bowels of the Sleeping Grounds [ _do not read your people’s sacrifice as failure_ ].

Why did she still [care] desire to study his people? All the anger and endurance and the intelligence had led to nothing [empty corridors and faded corpses]. Had he not [already] toppled the pillar this cycle [that she] had placed them on?

Shifting his stance [the itch at his back], Javik shook his head. He knew she drew wonder from ruins [it was not so hard to decipher] [her smile at some new forgotten thing]. 

But it was wordless [a nameless understanding], and he’d yet to comprehend it fully.

.

.

**68.**

Illium, it seemed, never changed. The lofty heights of Nos Phlous, curtained by morning mist and hanging lights, seemed eternal in its commercial hubbub. Busy enough that a lone asari, tucked into a secluded corner of a small bistro and seemingly absorbed by her data-pad, was of no particular note. 

Liara tugged at the edge of her coral-coloured mantle, glancing at the turian who’d swaggered just slightly too close past her table. 

It was automatic, to take wary note of any who so much as glanced her way. Taking a sip from her vahl drink, she tracked the stranger as he ambled up to the counter. Old fears were hard to shake off, even if these days it was paparazzi rather than assassins lining up for a head shot.

Sighing at her hard-learned paranoia, Liara leaned back in her chair and stared balefully at the article she’d been attempting to study. Half way through she’d highlighted a paragraph to reference, but for her life could not recall the connection she’d intended to make. 

Liara had intended some serious reading on this rare morning free of obligation. Solitude and a busy backdrop had always been a fond method to work through knots in her study. Leaning a cheek on her knuckles, she watched wistfully as two asari children dragged along their flustered turian parent.

The particular knot that currently troubled her, however, was not an academic one. Her data-pad dimmed with inaction.

It was bizarre to think of herself in love.

Even that thought caused Liara to twitch and tug at her cowl. 

There was not equation, no algorithm to apply that mapped the development of her affections. She could not pinpoint when it had started. On Victory, when Samara had answered her pointed questions with a pointed question, Liara had felt a well in her chest run deep with gratitude. He’d been so angry at her surrender. 

Or was it earlier? During those angry, desperate years on the run from the Atamna when they’d propped each other up enough to keep on fighting. She’d seen his despair and matched her loneliness to it; from that empty, desperate desert to diamond-cut stars.

When Javik had become so essential? A fixed point in her mind and life and a factor in all her plans. They reached for each other, now. She recalled tracking him down to that seedy fighting ring on Earth, intent on dragging him up so something more than brawling. Maybe they’d always been reaching.

Drumming her fingers against the table, Liara waved off the waitress. A salarian and an asari sat down at the table adjacent to hers and tittered.

Asari did not fear love. They embraced it, rushed into it to catch the fleeting years of their short-lived darlings. Liara had known it, had crashed her juvenile heart upon Shepard’s shore with the force of a storm. 

And Shepard had _died_.

Suffocated in space and Liara had been powerless to do anything but beat her fists against the walls of the pod as the frantic wheezes on her comm-link had slowly faded.

Sometimes, she still awoke, chased by the echoes of Shepard’s death rattle.

Time and death and change had broken whatever future they might have had together. It had taken Liara a long time to accept that. She’d been so young and foolhardy. So very heart-broken.

A fragile flutter in her heart tickled at that; old hurts and new fears. Liara did not want the heady rush and the panicked loss of her last love. Not for this, and not for Javik. Goddess knew, he had enough burdens to bear bar her own vulnerabilities. 

The young asari grasped her salarian partner’s mottled hand and cheekily kissed his knuckles.

Lips pressed together, Liara contemplated the joints of her fingers. Thought about the feel of a three fingered hand gripping her own and pressing out with comfort.

The only other point of reference she had was Feron. Not love, but they’d sunk into each other once Shepard had left the Shadow Broker’s Lair. More a bitter battle against loneliness than honest companionship. Liara had never melded with Feron.

Javik. She loved him. It still baffled her.

She arbitrarily scanned again through the article on her data-pad; still unfocused and pondering. 

It would not be fair, Liara decided, to pour her excessive sentiments to Javik’s unsuspecting lap. He still struggled to view this cycle’s survival as more than a fluke. In any case, she supposed it would take very little effort on his part to delve through her feelings the next time one reached of the other in support.

Besides, it was not as if she were attracted to him. In that manner.

An image of his bare torso leapt to the forefront of her mind. Months ago, in Barré’s laboratory. The scars across his chest. The compelling pull she’d felt. How he’d gasped at her touch and glanced down at her lips.

Oh dear.

Already her cheeks were aflame.

She wondered, distantly, how long it would take for Javik to notice this particular development.

.

.

**69.**

He was not overly surprised to learn Liara had mismanaged her time [yet again]. Something about needing to be physically present instead of conducting a multitude form behind the scenes [behind all those screens] seemed to throw her off. 

Besides, it was not as if Javik were averse to conversing with his former comrades [friends] [as much as he could manage]. With the asari rushing out of her office to class [effusing apologies] as an unmasked [now wasn’t that a marvel] quarian folded her arms on the holo-projector was [surely] something he could handle.

Tali’Zorah vas Rannoch rolled her [reflective] moon-shine eyes and muttered something [likely sardonic] inaudible as Liara passed off communication duties to him.

“Javik,” she smiled, the narrow points of her teeth poking out from behind pale lips. “You are looking well.”

“You are outside your suit on your home planet without immediate fear of death,” Javik observed [satisfied and self-assured they were on familiar ground]. He sat down at Liara’s desk, clasped his hands together and inclined his head in a generous [benevolent] [patronising] gesture. “Well done.”

The quarian’s [Tali] eyes were bright [bordered by soft lines that spoke of elation] even as she rolled them [predictable]. 

“You are, as ever, a charmer,” Tali replied dryly. 

She looked well; sun dapples across her scalp, a familiar hood [swirled purple and silver] draped over her shoulders [set in a cocky line].

The [not unattractive] mauve lines that drew up over the pale lavender of her skin [marked the scalp ridges] seemed stark under the harsh light of Rannoch’s sun. By all accounts, it [the planet] [that walled garden] had been kind to its returned progeny.

“Would you prefer a sweeter lie?” His mouth quirked at the corner.

“No,” Tali’Zorah sighed with mock melancholy. “Perhaps a kinder truth.”

Even if the technology was painfully basic [no pitch, sense, smell, emotion], Javik would not deny he was enjoying the [old] banter. Even if he had to make do with [simply] reading the quarian’s body language [had learned to make do].

“Very well,” Javik replied solemnly. “It is good you can now show your face to those you associate with.”

Tali’s narrow nose [the mauve lines running up it] crinkled. 

“Why you old softie,” she chuckled, waggling a hand. “Liara said you were becoming more personable, but I didn’t believe her.”

It was in jest, but the statement gave some part of him pause [of asari regard and asari sentiment]. Made warm a small section of his hearts; baffled [and underserving] in of itself. Something the [endlessly empathetic] quarian was [unfortunately] highly likely to pick up on.

A small huff fell [involuntarily] from his mouth, and Javik dipped his head.

“The asari is…generous in her regard of me,” he eventually disclosed.

“Is that so?” Tali’s gaze was long and inscrutable [twin lidded luminous moons]. Not for the first time, Javik lamented that he could not read her [the quarian] scent [her secrets and suppositions] over the comm-link.

He fought the urge to rub his knuckles under that calculating stare. 

Tali rested her chin coyly on one hand and leant forward [conspiratorially]. 

“Which reminds me,” came the long drawl [mouth wide and bent]. “She got the most bashful look when I asked about settling down. Any hints for an old friend?”

An uncomfortable twist rung through his stomach [he could not mark why].

“What are you implying?” If Javik’s tone was sharp, surely it was [just] concern [of distractions] [Liara had promised her all].

Her grin widened [a bright sheen to her eyes], tapping her fingers against her marked cheek. 

“Oh, just that the last time I saw her that shy, she asked to dissect Shepard for the beacon in her brain,” Tali confided [smug and sure]. He was perplexed at that. “Very smooth.”

“She has not offered to dissect my brain,” Javik said [curious at the tone] [implication]. This cycle continued to confound him with its idiosyncrasies. 

“Don’t feel too bad.” The quarian’s inflection drew out the vowels. “But at least you now know what to look out for.”

“Doctor T’Soni and I are partners,” huffed the prothean [jaw grinding]. Liara had made no such offer in his hearing [much less to himself]; it was absurd [a suggestion] [a courting ritual?]. “Any kind of dalliance would be a distraction from our project.”

Still, the quarian watched him closely [pointed with alert]. The static of the call did not mask her [sharp] amusement.

“Right.” She [Tali] tilted up her chin in exasperation and leaned back in her seat. “And that would be bad.”

“Of course.”

Tali scoffed, and loudly, and Javik bared his teeth in objection.

“Do you two ever go out and have fun?” Groused the quarian, gesturing emphatically [and unnecessarily]. “Aside from shooting bad guys and protecting the galaxy and yada yada.”

Javik rolled his shoulders [mildly insulted], [painfully] aware that the same question [into the purpose of such self-flagellation] had been asked of him by the krogan [Kirot]. He still did not feel like a civilian [at peace].

He should have expected no less from her [so invested in emotional well-being]; Tali had an [unseemly] habit of prying into the cracks and creases of his mental map. Only Shepard rivalled her in [infernal] [constant] interference.

But no; Javik stumbled in mentally chiding his [overly concerned and attached] comrades. Liara was every bit as obnoxious in her nosiness [concern]. Seemingly, the asari and her worry had become a matter of course to him [when] [and how].

“Your tone suggests disapproval.” Javik’s quadriad gaze narrowed [shrugged off the peculiar turn of his thoughts].

“Your tone suggests going on a date together once a fortnight counts as a healthy social life,” Tali snipped back. “Adorable as that is.”

There was no reason to be flustered; the quarian was only partially correct [in her wild conjecture]. There were a less than a [asari] handful of places he considered to be appropriately secure [minimal chance of poisoning] in Nos Phlous. That Liara and he should on occasion [on routine] dine out to measure the mood of the general populace was [absolutely] not adorable [was necessary].

Quarians were so speculative.

[Wait] He blinked [a date?]. 

“It’s not-“ Heat rose on his face and throat [could not even cry primitive].

“What about that big society dinner your university is hosting?” Tali charged forth [like a thresher maw on the hunt] with her [gleeful] conjecture. “Asari galas are quite the event. Lots of sponsors.”

“We do not-“

He was not given the time to talk [edged back from the screen at her high-pitched enthusiasm]. 

“All that free food. The dancing. The dresses,” the quarian clasped her hands together, directing a disgruntled [and embarrassingly disapproving] pout at the camera at Javik’s obvious disinterest. “You two don’t get out enough.” 

“No.”

Javik would rather have his teeth drawn out and hammered into his fingers. Just the thought [crowded faces] [shifting glances] [smells, sounds and too many variables] made him wince.

He did not believe Liara would enjoy such an environment either [too dangerous].

“It would be fun,” she exclaimed [falsely] [voice pitching in pleasure]. “Sneer at the gentry, spike the punch, embarrass Liara. Just do something that doesn’t involve a shootout or a fossil.” 

A stifled groan [pained and peeved] broke free from his [Javik’s] throat.

He knew what the beginning of a campaign looked like.

.

.

**70.**

There was a champagne fountain, of all things.

Liara held her tongue as two asari socialites giggled over the human extravagance; apparently such things were still considered quaint. The University had certainly spared no expense in staging their showcase gala. In the centre of the lush room, onlookers swayed to the elegant instrumental compositions of the glittering quartet whilst a pair of professional biotic dancers entertained. Liara recognised a number of influential business magnates and political speakers midst the renowned academics. 

Recognised them for their secrets; patrons of the arts and sciences rarely could afford to do so without some moral compromise.

The University’s dean, Doctor Unira T'Lam, was no exception. She had effused triumph when Liara agreed to present their research so far. Anything to garner positive attention and funding, she’d gushed. 

Humming at her analysis, Liara tried to remind herself that this was no clandestine mission. A few heads turned her way, though that was likely her notoriety rather than the almost immodest magenta dress Tali had gushed over. 

Almost likely; she was still not entirely sure how her friend had convinced her to attend.

Javik, for his part, had sniffed at the low cut back of her dress and gleefully accused her of trying to seduce him before escorting her inside. Now, he stood at attention by a pillar looking suitably ancient and mysterious. Eyes flickering at his gawking audience, he’d taken to telling outrages lies of fantastical prothean achievements.

It made Liara wince to think she’d once treated him with the same abrasive prying. For all his jibes, he was more than an exotic curio. Biting her lip, she fingered the crystal flowers of a biotic sculpture and wondered if he needed saving.

“Well, well,” came a long, low voice at her shoulder. Pebbles of unease ran down the back of Liara’s neck and arms. “Look how you’ve grown.”

Liara’s spine snapped straight, for Liara she recognised the soft, seething voice at her back. Biotics hummed under her palms; a bad indicator of her rattled nerves. Schooling her expression, Liara turned to the blade-faced visage of Omega’s Pirate Queen. 

“Aria T’Loak.” There was a snarl in Liara’s mouth that was hard to smooth away. A pinch between her shoulder blades turned her posture rigid.

“Yes, me.” Aria smiled thinly. 

Dressed in apparel consisting of an absurd combination of leather and belts, the amethyst asari was almost out of place midst the preening throng of Nos Phlous’ elite. An obsidian knife midst the silverware, but seamless in her self-possession. All Matriarchs got that way, after a while.

Gaze flat and careful, Liara dipped her head in acknowledgement. She was certain Aria had not been on the guest-list. Not that the list would have been particularly difficult to circumvent.

It was the why of it that worried Liara. 

“Isn’t Nos Phlous a little pedestrian for your tastes?” Turning her head, Liara followed Aria’s languid regard as the older asari circled her. A mental list flipped through her mind of all known associates and antagonists of Omega’s watchful tyrant currently in the lavish room. The conclusion was not comforting.

“Very dull,” Aria assured her, long-toothed in her amusement. “But an old friend invited me, and I do like to keep up with what Illium deems diverting.”

Across the room, Doctor T’Lam laughed gaily with her associates. Liara caught the flash of her gaze. Aria, of course, did not return it; had not taken her pale eyes off Liara, even as she stole a bubbling glass from a passing waiter. 

“Watching for potential competition?” Liara’s voice was tight and tense. Holding back her shoulders as Aria idly picked at the crystalline sculpture that witnessed them, she marked the curl of her cruel mouth. Blue flecks of light fell over the older asari’s black dress and shapely arms.

“More like making an investment,” tittered Aria, throwing back her chin to down the bubbling drink. Liara eyed her bare and vulnerable throat; wondered how hard a strike would crush it, or cut it, if push came to shove.

Dangerous thoughts, but she was thrown uncertain at this spontaneous rendezvous. The last time the two asari had spoken face to face, Liara had been running on rage searching for Shepard’s body and Aria had barely pulled through on her end of a bargain. 

The glitter in Aria’s eyes made her suspect the move had been rather deliberate. Liara cleared her throat.

“Which unlucky soul has caught your eye?” 

“You.” 

Her heart and hands stilled, focus drawn like a dagger to the smug swell of Aria’s smile. The sly snake had been looking for the moment of Liara’s alarm.

Yet a handful of heartbeats went, and Aria made no move bar setting her empty glass atop some protrusion on the sculpture and cocked her hip.

“Are you shocked, little maiden?” Aria crooned softly, reaching out pick imaginary lint off Liara’s stiff shoulder. “You shouldn’t be.” 

She was a fool; Liara ought to have remained closer to Javik, for all that they were meant to be schmoozing with sponsors. Ought to have monitored the event more closely before their arrival. A dark part of Liara’s mind cut herself for being careless. 

But no, perhaps this was fortuitous. The dark lines on Aria’s brow and chin moved with her smirk. It was a trial not to flinch from the Matriarch’s casual caress. Better to have Javik away and outside the line of fire. Likely he would not stand idle at the crawling dread at her back.

Touching the back of her teeth with her tongue, Liara shifted her weight to bear in on her adversary. A show of fearlessness, or recklessness.

“Do you think you are the first Matriarch to approach me bearing wreaths of wisdom?” Liara let her words be hushed and hard. A challenge to the power dynamic Aria had set.

“Hah,” Aria’s eyes glittered as she pinched Liara’s chin. “You wouldn’t last a week if I were.”

She hitched her face at the milling socialites and let loose a razor smile. Liara set her jaw.

“Those halfwits are happy to gaggle about the sidelines of galactic upheaval.” The asari pressed her thumb deeper into Liara’s chin, trying to make her flinch. “I, however, tend to have a vested interest in people who shake the status quo.”

Liara did not give her the satisfaction.

“I’m sure you do,” she hissed through gritted teeth, and pulled her face free. 

Aria let her go with a sneer, rubbing her thumb and fingers slowly together before arching back. 

“Careful girl. Don’t forget who you are talking to.”

An acrid taste lingered on the back of Liara’s tongue. She was by no means a novice at staring down dangerous scum, but Aria T’Loak was a different kind of foe.

Still, she had not become the Shadow Broker by being faint-hearted.

“It was not I who attempted to renegade on an agreement,” Liara snipped, straightening her posture. The silk of her dress shifted as she stepped away. “What do you want, Aria?”

The Matriarch merely looked bored at her boldness, hand elevated on her hip.

“Such arrogance,” Aria sighed glibly. “Like blind, old Lucen, left crippled and chained on the edge of the world for wanting more than she was worth.”

Liara frowned at the antique myth; it seemed an odd reference to make. More so when accompanied with the cutting glint in Aria’s scrutiny; the tyrant was not known for being either oblique or poetic. 

Was she being tested?

Aria’s focus slid from her confusion, nodding to some force approaching from behind with sly satisfaction.

“Oh look,” she crooned, even as Liara refused to turn away. “Here comes your pet varren.”

A familiar, heavy step revealed Javik’s approach even before he lightly brushed her elbow. 

“Doctor T’Soni,” Javik inquired at her shoulder. There was caution and concern in his manner, and Liara left a hand on his forearm in wordless reassurance.

“How charming,” drawled Aria, long-toothed and languid as she sauntered past. “Do give my regards to Doctor T’Lam, when you next speak.” 

Her fingers tightened where they gripped Javik as the older asari slunk away into the crowd. A tight knot loosened in Liara’s gut, and she turned to her partner in badly concealed relief at his narrowed gaze.

“You are on edge,” observed Javik, quiet in a way that spelt danger.

It took a moment for Liara to respond, still searching the crowd as she was. Shaking her head, Liara let loose an unsteady breath, and wound her arm loosely around Javik’s.

“That was Aria T’Loak,” she said mildly. The contact would tell him better the trepidation that shuttered through her skin. Would reassure her.

She felt him pause, before tugging his arm so that they moved back toward the glittering crowd. The corner of Javik’s mouth dipped down and Liara marked the displeased dip of his golden eyes.

Not that she often observed his mouth so closely.

“The Pirate of Omega?”

Liara pressed her lips together and nodded. Javik’s bicep tensed under her palm and she felt the hum of his worry.

“What did she want?” His teeth practically bit at the words.

But that was the question; Aria T’Loak did nothing without purpose. Liara doubted she had come all the way to Nos Phlous to simply tease a high profile maiden like herself at a fancy academic gala. If the tyrant had taken an interest in Liara, it meant that there were plots afoot.

Still, she needed more information.

“I don’t know,” Liara admitted, and shook her head at the askance look Javik shot her way.

And that was the crux.

.

.

**71.**

He awoke, not chased from sleep or thrown with panic, but watchful in a breath that spelt unease. Javik blinked, tasting the air for intruders [there were none] and noxious gas [there were none].

Huffing to himself, Javik rose from the bed [back knotted and gnarled] and felt the brittle carpet beneath his [cold and bare] feet. He was not alarmed [no danger clawed at his belly], but something was amiss within the small apartment he shared with Liara. His sleep-wear felt frail against the night.

Padding to the door, Javik trailed his hand over the walls and left the room [read the passing of himself and Liara] [nothing unknown or unexpected].

The small hum of tech sounded as he reach the top of the stairs, and the soft glow of a data-pad lit the dining table below. Javik studied each angle of the room, only slightly taken back to find Liara [agitation rippling down her back] crouched over the power breaker board by the main windows. 

As he [slowly and silently] descended the stairs, the utterances of her irritation broke the quiet. Javik’s mouth twitched; Liara kept strange hours [and habits] when deadlines loomed. Yet by all accounts [his and hers] their research was progressing well [dapples of stress along her spine]. 

His expression flitted into a grimace when Javik reached the data-pad and read the message left on it.

_-By all accounts Lucen’s Eyes is a quaint theological group dedicated to the old canticles. It’s members are mostly sporadic, but there is a core group of five maidens who attend ‘religiously’, for lack of a better word. Not unusual, especially for the University of Serrice, though they are rather more conservative than most. No mention of the Chains of Lucen’s Eyes as of yet. I’ve been trying to cosy up to the youngest (a cousin to one of Doctor T’Soni’s students-will investigate), but they’re all fairly reserved. Will continue until something comes up._

A cold coal dropped from throat to belly at the bright words written there. She was overseeing an operation [that she had not told him of]. 

Liara cursed [still unaware], sparks striking her finger tips from the power breaker board. 

“What is this?” He demanded [not caring for her shock]. 

“Javik!” Liara yelped, falling back [wide-eyed and spiked with alarm], scrabbling for composure. “I-I didn’t wake you, did I?”

He clacked his teeth; scrutinized the lines under her eyes, the electric interface at her back. For the shields, he realised [shimmered geometric orange over the windows]. Liara saw, flexed her fingers in mollification. 

“I wanted to double check them,” Liara said, biting her bottom lip [uncertain and scared]. “Just to be sure.”

With one hand, Javik tapped the screen of the data-pad where it lay on the table. Her blue asari eyes flickered to it, chased by a [stubborn] frown on her brow. A silent snarl twisted his expression [angrily] [he was angry].

“That,” he began [strained by her silence]. “That is Shadow Broker mission report.”

Liara’s expression faltered, cast in guilt [back lit by electronics]. She drew her arms around herself [a shield], but did not rise.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” she said, voice steady [emotion fluxed and flawed]. It made his temper roil [flared focus over his occiput], and Javik clenched his fists so as not to cast the data-pad across the room. Did Liara not trust him [anymore]? 

[That hurt more than it should].

“I am not,” he bit out, “some dim-witted student or conniving reporter to be brushed off.”

A muscle in her jaw clenched. 

“You know I work hard to keep us safe,” Liara returned, head and hands shaking as she stood [terse and tired in a way he recognised] [alarmed him].

“Except now you no longer feel so, and have not told me why!” Eyes flashing [hot], Javik stepped forward, palms up [to reach for her] [to keep her away]. “You think I would not notice? You flinch at shadows!”

She flinched at that [at him], looking away to the faint flicker of the shields. 

“Do you want to every small thing that sets off my alarm bells?” Drawing back, an ugly [bitter and buried] twist entered her expression. 

Stalking forward, Liara seized the data-pad and thrust it at him. Javik clacked his teeth.

“Fine,” she [the asari] seethed [went on the attack]. “First there’s the bomb threats to my estate on Thessia. Or the attempted hack of my research files? How about the removal of my mother’s name from the learning centre she helped found! Three weeks ago, extremists on Kahje declared you a heretic and a false prophet. In addition, Councillor Iressa has become very cosy with some very old, very traditional Matriarchs who put a lot of money into discrediting Ousia’s investigation. Shall I go on?”

A shrill note pierced her last question, chest heaving as Liara dared him his answer.

For a moment, all he could hear was his own [heavy] breath. 

Of course Javik had noticed her increasing [obsessive] attention to detail, checking routes and personnel and connections. He’d not marked it [as passing strange]. For who was Javik to cry paranoia? Vigilance must be maintained for their continued survival.

[And yet].

She [Liara] had not shared this [her burdens] with him. Javik had inquired [bluntly] [about sleep and soreness and stress] and she’d brushed off his concern with [forged] half-truths that he’d [foolishly] not challenged.

Against his chest, her [trembling] hands held the data-pad. Apprehension cracked [like burnt sugar] through her scent. Javik looked at his asari and saw the tautness that lined her body and the [deep] purple under her eyes.

“What made you stop taking the sleeping medication?” But the rage of Javik’s intent failed [curdled to hurt] [turned distant], and instead he brought up his palms to rest on her bare shoulders. A bruised sensation [burst and bound] lingered under her fatigued agitation, escaping identification just as he reached for it.

The fight left her [dropped like a stone] and Liara sagged in his hold.

“They made everything fuzzy,” she explained, again shaking her head [shame swirling under her crest]. “I need to be sharp.”

Javik’s grip tightened [unintentionally] [tried to reach for her] [throat burning].

“Yet you will not tell me why,” he hissed [had to make her see].

“Because I have nothing!” Liara [bitter and biting] wrenched herself away [his hands felt empty]. “Just a veiled reference to an ancient myth from one of the most dangerous asari in the galaxy.”

Sighing heavily, she knelt again in front of the power breaker board [fingers dancing along the circuits].

“A myth that shares its name with that of a cryptic, extinct order, a small study group at the University of Serrice and a brand of popsicles. No suspicious chatter, clandestine meetings or extremist ties.” Liara’s head ducked down, her fingers fell to the floor. “Either Aria T’Loak is mocking me, or I am missing something very clever and very dangerous.” 

“You insist I place merit in the values of this cycle,” he demanded [implored] [please o stubborn wretch]. Watched how she froze at his entreaty [unclear and wavering]. “Grant me the same regard.”

“It’s not-“ 

Javik scoffed [despair at her obstinacy], and cast about for some way to convince her. 

A thread of anger still circled his hearts [molten hot but thin]; they’d reached for each other for many things [a habit now] [a ritual]. On Eden Prime, Liara had held out a hand when he’d been caught sinking tar-pit of his own self-loathing. 

Now, her shoulder-blades trembled. Javik bit back a curse and kept his fists at his side. [They were meant to be a team].

In the dark crypt of his people, her words had made him contemplate [care] [freely offered]. 

“I cannot help you if you do not tell me.” Javik’s voice was gentler than anticipated [thought possible] [going soft].

A half-sob erupted from her [but no] [no] [he hadn’t wanted that].

At once, Javik recognised the feeling she’d been masking [that he’d been missing] [appalling]. It ran down the back of her neck like a veil, and still she did not turn.

“If I let up, just one moment,” Liara began [choked with fear] [clogging the air]. “Then all of this will slip away through my fingers.”

Afraid [Liara was afraid].

Javik stared [awe and wonder] at her crouched form [so small and vulnerable], hand outstretched but so unsure. A small bright thing [to be cherished] lit his blood to know she valued their life together so. Infuriated, to find she’d [foolishly] secreted such fears away. 

His anger was a fickle thing, it seemed [when it involved her] [turned warm and gentle]. It seemed this cycle’s sentiment was [bafflingly] catching [a tumbling in his hearts].

“Come away from that,” he said instead. “You will do no improvements such as you are.”

“It should be better,” was Liara’s stubborn [stuffy] reply, touching in new code.

“You will not make it so tonight,” Javik pointed out, leaning against the table [granting space]. Tried not to sigh at his [own, new-found] patience. “Not alone, in the dark and weeping as you are.”

“I’m not weeping.” She scrubbed her face with her palm [obstinate] [almost made him chuckle].

The prothean watched in silence, pondering and perplexed at the myriad of threads that ran between them [fear and anger and regard]. Kirot was right [that he could admit]; Javik did place an inordinate amount of value in the asari. [More fool him]. 

After a moment, Liara sniffed [so graceless] and rose away from the panel. 

“I don’t want to lose this,” she said [quiet and quaking], and that caught Javik’s breath in his throat [ache pulsing through his veins]. The faint light of the panel board cast orange glow behind Liara’s crest and [freckled] cheek. Her eyes were shining.

“You won’t,” he [Javik] promised [her] in the dark.

.

.

**72 ******

The swish of the apartment door and quiet fall of his step shot Liara up from her chair like a bullet, relief swamping her throat and belly.

He paused at that, eyes flickering from her to the closed and covered windows and across to the staircase. The pistol in his hand remained ready. She almost wept to see he’d taken her terse warning with all the gravitas she’d injected into it. Not brushed it off as paranoia. 

“Drell,” Javik acknowledged, even as he straightened. From his seat on the stairs, Feron huffed and rolled his dark eyes. 

“Greetings to you too, prothean,” returned the drell dryly. Liara pressed her lips together; whatever rivalry they held, she had little patience for. The feeds running through the data-pad at her fingertips were long and bright.

“What has transpired?” Javik directed at her. All things considered, his frostiness was not unexpected. Or completely undeserved.

A shudder clutched at her tongue, and Liara found herself again sitting. Her breath, it seemed, had left her. Javik was safe, though. Not that she’d doubted, but still. Old fears had reared their heads. Terse anxiety from little sleep sent her thoughts easily spiralling.

And Javik noticed; she could tell by the way the air sharpened. Closing her eyes to gain composure, Liara sought the reassurances she was sure he needed. They were not easy in coming.

“Something of an emergency meeting, I’m afraid,” answered Feron, when it became clear she was not going to. Goddess bless him. “I was visiting Nos Astra when some chatter came my way. Vengeful chatter. Namely regarding the good doctor here and the University of Metharme.”

“A threat?” Javik’s tone was wipe-cord tight.

Hands linked and elbows on the table, Liara’s expression tightened.

“Yes,” Feron confirmed, again pausing to grant her time to speak. “Ostensibly midst a forum for a conservative statist group calling themselves the ‘Defenders of Old Thessia’. My agents found instructions to leave packages for members of a supposed study group called Lucen’s Eyes. Very discreet.”

She heard the hiss of Javik’s sigh, the tap of Feron’s nails against the stair.

It was gratifying, in a way, to know she hadn’t been losing her mind with senseless worry. Terrifying too, to think that still she was wanted dead.

Taking a deep breath, Liara drew her poise in and up to meet Javik’s battle-bright gaze.

“The group themselves are what you’d expect. Young, disenfranchised, and highly philosophical,” she said through dry lips. Her fingers ached where they were locked together, and the weight of her carelessness seemed suffocating. “Somewhere along the way to enlightenment they were manipulated by those older and more powerful.”

With a sly gaze at the closed windows, Javik walked to her side. Liara wordlessly offered up the data-pad for his inspection.

“So the Pirate of Omega was warning you.” All four of his bright eyes narrowed at the reports he read. The angle of his cheek-bones was sharp.

“Apparently,” Liara replied, biting her lips. “Though I expect she was more interested to see if I would pick up on the threat than saving my skin.”

“You did say she deemed you a person of interest,” Feron pointed out.

Javik sneered at the data-pad.

“Is she responsible?” His voice scraped raw with rage and promise as he turned back to her, casting the device to the table. Small shivers ran up her spine.

“No,” Liara suppressed a scowl. “Most likely Aria stumbled onto the operation. She is…friendly with members of these alleged ‘Defenders of Old Thessia’.”

“The ‘study group’ itself has been recruited as something of a small taskforce,” Feron added, resting his arms on his knees. “My agents have observed these pick-ups for a number of weeks. We only just managed to get our hands on one.” 

“And?” Javik’s look was sour.

Feron smiled grimly, the flare of his frill rippled in irritation.

“There are tickets to Illium,” answered the drell. “To Nos Phlous, in fact. No written instructions.”

“So, we have no real time frame aside from their arrival,” Liara sighed. Her fingers tightened in the knot she’d made of them. “And no specifics on their directives.”

It was far from ideal. Even having the dark arm of the Broker network scouring out every nook and cranny for more details could not ease the jittered dread that hummed under her skin. Displeasure radiated off every angry angle of Javik’s posture.

At least he was here. At least he was safe. And Feron would help.

She would keep them both safe. Would not lose anyone else she cared for. Loved.

“We know it will likely be loud. Flashy,” Feron contemplated out-loud, rose chin dimpling. He shrugged nonchalantly at the glare Javik sent his way. “What? They want to make a statement.”

“Then we know the target will be the university,” Javik snapped. 

That was a fair supposition, though it made her teeth ache. Heart hard, Liara tried not to think of the beautiful, sweeping towers of the university blasted black with soot and crumbling. The bodies of her students cast to the ground.

Javik-

Liara sunk her thumbnail into the flesh of her finger. She had to focus.

“And that they are considered expendable,” Liara agreed tersely, reigning in her dire imaginings to go over what intel they did have. “Someone, somewhere knows what they’re doing, but this a small, shock team will be thrown to the varren at the slightest mishap.”

A lot of effort had been put in to making the plotting discreet, but not in the actual execution.

Which meant Lucen’s Eyes were coherent and experienced enough to operate independent of their benefactors. Liara picked up the abandoned data-pad and brought up the key members and their known aliases. A few ex-huntresses. One commando. All well trained and experienced, but not especially decorated.

She resisted the urge to shake out her shoulders.

“They’ve been careful, and clever,” Liara continued, tapping her nails against the table. There were various points where her would be assassins had potentially worked together. Most notably during the Reaper War, but there were reports of possible older collaborations; political, privately funded jobs funded from off-planet accounts. “They’ll be messy; to make an example of me.”

A prickle ran across her skin, and Liara looked up to meet Javik’s intense scrutiny. Yet, that was not quite right. A muscle flexed in his jaw and she saw his bottom lip compress. His hand, clenched on the back of a chair, was pale at the joints.

Worry. Javik was worried for her.

“Oh.” Her mouth popped into an open circle. 

He must have read her response, for he huffed and ducked his gaze away. Stepping back, Javik glared at the covered windows instead and crossed his arms. A hot flush crept over Liara’s neck and crest.

From his perch on the stair, Feron pointedly cleared his throat, directing a dry glance her way.

“Well, they’re avoiding any digital communication. We’ll have to track them physically when they dock. Have their faces tracked in surrounding security vids.” The lean drell stretched his legs as he stood, orange face flashing. “Luckily, we have agents and algorithms for that.”

Liara nodded dumbly; Javik’s worry should not have struck her so. She chided herself for being so distracted. Yet her pulse still raced, and she was reminded again of how very dear he was to her. 

About what had happened last time she cared so.

“How much time do we have?” Javik barely looked back at them, hunched over as he was while peering through the window shades.

“Just over three weeks.”

Liara bit her lip.

Not a whole lot of time. She had a contingency plan, for a need such as this. Of course she’d made one, and she’d make this one work with the time they had, too. Snaking another glance at her partner, Liara leaned back in her seat and sighed.

Doctor T’Lam was not going to like it, but she would come around. It would be in the university’s best interest after all.

And Javik-

She pressed a hand against her racing chest. It would keep them safer than the sitting ducks they’d be if they remained. He would not be able to argue with that. 

Bringing up a new message on her data-pad, Liara began an email to the University of Metharme's dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Urgh, emotions and intrigue is hard. And plot; I swear I have a [vague] plan! I'm just going to post this up now so I don't put it off again.
> 
> Sorry for the wait, hope you guys enjoy it :P.
> 
>  
> 
> Glossary
> 
> Atamna: Athame high priestesses  
> Arthana: Thessia’s capital city. Where the Temple of Athme was located.  
> Chahhu: Asari biotic dance routine.  
> Fyaer: Thessian thorned flower.  
> Kamada: Prothean word for the imperial court.  
> Maalume: Prothean overseers/moral managers.  
> Marbar Ya: Prothean word for the carers of young.  
> Shihiid: Martyr  
> Soaxiib: Prothean word for comrade, typically referring to experienced, familiar military teams.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The report said that youngling toys were uncovered at the monument.”
> 
> Her teeth dug into her bottom lip at the careful neutrality of his tone. Checking their position on the nav-system, Liara scanned the barren landscape that surrounded them.
> 
> “Yes,” she confirmed, deliberately not glancing at Javik.

.

.

**73.**

For all that the present cycle had done what its countless predecessors could not, Javik was convinced that the [mindless] bureaucracy and [counterproductive] politicking [that so typified it] would crumble its order from within until the whole [vile] mess fell in on itself.

His most current [primary] evidence for this was typified by Unira T’Lam, seated behind her [ostentatious] marbled desk, frowning [deep and darker] at every impassioned point Liara made. 

“This is a very tall order,” stated the matron [wound like wire], pastel lips terse and thin. 

Keeping his back to the wall, Javik leant toward the [typically asari styled] wide and painted windows of the Dean’s office. Liara bit her bottom lip despite her careful repose [at ease but not careless], as [purpled] agitation jutted off her scent like scales.

“I made it clear when I signed on that there were risks in employing me.” Her voice was calm and cool, for all sharp line of her shoulders. “You agreed that the benefits to the University would outweigh them.” 

“And you agreed to let the University Board know when such risks made themselves known,” came the peeved counter.

“Under the provision that I had enough warning to think that it would not endanger myself and others to let the Board be a part of that decision making process.” 

If Liara had not been so invested in this book [his legacy] they were to write together, Javik would have insisted they depart [Illium] immediately. Either remove the assassins directly or retreat out of reach, but she insisted on ensuring not only the University’s safety, but also their [damned] professional reputation.

He had asked that the asari give her all to their venture [she was fulfilling that demand] [to risk and ruin]. The thought was a rueful one now that she held to it.

And though the drell insisted their agents were ready to move in on the [errant] group of [murderous] asari extremists as soon as they set foot on planet, Javik had reservations. Still they did not know the full extent of this operation. The [cunning] adherence to non-digital communication made intercepting the assailant’s plans more problematic [harder to catch]. 

Javik flickered his attention to the two asari waging their subtle contest [of will and wiles] over a marble battleground. T’Lam steepled her viridian fingers against her chin. 

“I helped write the contract,” Liara said, head tilted just so. “I know my way around it.”

“Doctor T’Soni,” the Dean puffed in annoyance [deep green gloating over her brow and nose]. “You want to cut short your teaching tenure after barely two years on the job to go gallivanting off on an unsanctioned trip to the edges of the known galaxy.”

Her short-sightedness was pathetic and utterly unsurprising.

“Tch.”

“Something amusing to you, Master Javik?” T’Lam turned her sour disposition his way. Frowned at his [obvious] disdain. Liara narrowed her eyes at him in an expression that indicated she did not believe he was helping.

Javik ignored her [would have flayed T’Lam in his cycle]. 

“Only your pitiable lack of perspective.” He let the sharp edge of his teeth show [had no time for games]. “Were it up to me, we would no longer be in this system.”

A petulant [unseemly] pout drew down the matron’s face.

“I’m hoping you’ll make it sanctioned,” Liara cut in, breaking her form to rest a [conciliatory] hand on the desk. “The University will gain a lot notoriety from the work Javik and myself will do.” 

Javik let his sneer linger as the Dean was drawn back to Liara’s pitch. She [Liara] smiled secretly [sweetly] and angled her body [appealingly] towards the Dean.

“Who else has a prothean helping in mapping the expansion of the Prothean Empire?” The curl of her smile was inviting [but not for him].

T’Lam raised a brow, but interest gleamed in her skin. It was a seduction, of sorts. Something he’d not expected his asari to [actually] go through with. An oily dollop rolled in his gut, and Javik contemplated [wondered painfully] how often Liara had played up the lure of asari sensuality that seemingly diverted all [himself excepted] in this cycle. 

“I want my enemies distracted,” continued Liara, fingertips light where they trailed along the smooth surface of the desk [watched by T’Lam]. “Departing Illium so loudly will leave them wrong-footed.”

The Dean hummed in amusement [aware and attracted at Liara’s game] [he was disquieted by it].

“And if they come after the two of you?” Doctor T’Lam inquired.

Liara curled her dark mouth and leaned back with a [measured] reckless wave of her hand [attractive in her supposed arrogance]. She had told him of T’Lam’s association with the Pirate of Omega; a personality preference Liara had worked into her persona for this meeting.

He did not enjoy watching her play so false [enjoyed it less than the fidgeting paranoia that also haunted her].

“There will be far less collateral damage on the surface of Agetoton or Kopis,” assured Liara.

“Doctor T’Soni and I are well versed in combat.” Javik interjected, folding his arms to glare T’Lam [at her interest]. “We will not be sitting targets awaiting slaughter.”

The Dean, for her part, took the time to languidly assess the space between them [speculative] [careful eyes and pressed lips]. She was drawing out the silence, waiting for some small betrayal of comfort or ease. Javik fought the urge to sneer [snarl] [this was their lives], and did not falter in returning the scrutiny. Silent between them, Liara remained relaxed and regal. 

“Hmm.” T’Lam shot a warm glance back to Liara and settled back in her [spherical] chair. “This would be a breach of contract. I am entitled to some compensation.”

An acid drop burned down his back for the speculative [heated] interest the matron had responded so well too. He’d argued against this angle [so wished for a weapon]. They should have just left Illium [more fool him] [none of it was worth this].

Yet, Liara had not moved. Only lifted her chin and the cut of her cheek-bones and not flinched.

“I have already agreed to pledge myself to the University of Metharme for a further five years, and that’s after the conclusion of this expedition. Whilst drawing away a significant terrorist threat away from campus.” She spoke slow and sure and steady [his knuckles ached]. “You also already have very favourable and exclusive publishing rights to any material we produce.”

“Yes.” The word was far too drawn out for Javik’s liking. T’Lam had a gleam in her eyes that spoke of scheming. “Alright, T’Soni. I will authorise this slapdash expedition to cover this assassination squad you say is closing in. But I want you to document it.”

At that, they [Liara] [Javik] both started.

“I…what do you mean?” Liara had sat up straight [sparking with wariness and worry]. The older viridian asari only looked amused. Javik calculated the two paces it would take to [so easily] reach T’Lam and snap her neck.

“A video blog,” T’Lam elucidated. “Document this expedition in real time and allow the University to publish it.”

“Absolutely not,” injected Liara, now sharp with seriousness. A more familiar and welcome manner [to him] was in the down turn of her mouth. “That would compromise our safety and those of the sites and people we visit.” 

T’Lam nodded thoughtfully and raised a hand [palm up in peace].

“In that case I want a crew to go with you to record your progress to be compiled into a series upon completion.”

“And risk their safety and my security?”

What followed forthwith was simply a matter of negotiation. 

.

.

**74.**

It was almost hard to look at the crumbling composure of the round-faced maiden currently shuffling in her laboratory. Liara bit the inside of her cheek, and battened down her impatience at her student’s woeful air. Half packed boxes made towers in the room, and it would be a long time before she was anywhere near to done.

Still, the bouquet that had been thrust into her arms was a kind gift. Shifting her hold, Liara studied the signatures that dotted the small holo-card rotating over the display. A sweet gesture, from an excellent, if overly attentive student.

Hands knotted at her belly, Mathete darted another glance at her companion before dropping her gaze to the floor.

“I…I mean we, all will miss you muchly, Doctor T’Soni.” The berry blue of Mathete’s skin was streaked with anguish, and Liara nodded and smiled kindly when the maiden glanced up. That only caused the poor girl to bring up a hand to hide a hiccup. “E-excuse me.”

Mathete fled, and Liara watched as the door slid closed again, before turning her attention to the student who remained.

That was another problem entirely.

Liara made a careful show of making room on a cluttered desk so as to set the bouquet down. Dusting at the flowers, she watched out of the corner of her eye as Thrasyes folded her arms and cocked her hips impatiently. The wily maiden had not run out after her overcome friend, and there was no simpering look of longing in her expression.

“So,” Thrasyes’ tone was set and stout. “They say the Dean is kicking you out because Messere Javik refused to sleep with her.”

Half a laugh slipped out of Liara’s throat before she could help herself. Clearing her throat, Liara thumbed a crimson leaf.

“And what do you think?” 

“I think,” Thrasyes began slyly, “that you’re running away from something.” 

The answer almost surprised Liara, but the maiden had always been bold. She’d early suspected that Thrasyes had some kind of agenda; for all that she’d signed up for all of Liara’s classes, the younger asari did not have the acumen or passion of a scholar. Or the lingering fervour of an admirer such as Mathete.

Of course, the Broker dossier on her fanatic cousin and her grasping grandmother had pieced the puzzle together nicely. What Thrasyes V’Della aimed to achieve in this confrontation remained to be seen.

Liara hummed as if in thought.

“It’s well known that I have earned the ire of those who are supposedly my betters,” she said lightly, waiting for Thrasyes to stumble into whatever angle she was aiming for. 

“And they mean to kill you?”

Straitening so as to face Thrasyes fully, Liara dipped her head in acknowledgement before looking up. Thrasyes’ indigo eyes widened, at once child-like and afraid. 

She seemed so young.

Casually reaching for a disarray of data-drives, Liara plucked them one by one to pack slowly into a fitted box. Best let the maiden sort through the tumult she was so valiantly trying to conceal; she’d feel more at ease without Liara’s obvious scrutiny.

A thin wire of pity wound about in her chest; Thrasyes was so clearly out of her depth. The botched hacking of her work computers had indicated as much. She’d given consideration that the maiden’s amateur clumsiness was also an act, but Liara’s instincts indicated otherwise.

Still. The wire snapped and straightened and Liara clenched her jaw. The V’Della family was deeply entrenched in a plot to murder her. There was a time when Liara would have answered that betrayal with blood.

“Have you heard from your cousin Irana of late, Thrasyes?” Liara asked after a strained moment of silence.

Thrasyes’ face blanched, violet markings stark against her skin.

“Yes,” she said shortly, white knuckled and nostrils flaring. “Why?”

Liara levelled a long look her way, and wondered how much she knew of her cousin’s dealings. A thread of fear had entered the maiden’s voice, but no panic. Her knuckles were pale at her hips.

“I hear she’s taken a sudden and avid interest in the University,” commented Liara. “You must have had a lot to talk about.”

“Don’t hurt Irana. She’s a good person.” The words tumbled out in a plea so odd from Thrasyes’ tongue. “I didn’t-“

Ah.

“Did not what? Mean me any harm?” Liara cut through with a coldness that rose despite the horror the spawned from the maiden’s confession. The gall of it tasted sour. “That kind of wilful naivety is fatal in espionage.” 

The maiden flinched visibly at that; quailed under Liara’s flinty stare and the anger that dwelled behind it. Lucen’s Eyes wanted to burn away everything she’d worked so hard to build; the purpose, the companionship and connections.

Javik-

Javik; looking up from the galaxy map, scowl in place at another inaccuracy he’d found in the details. Being obnoxious at each new eatery they dined at and him thieving the food on her plate when his own displeased him. Fending off the curious admirers he’d gathered, and he hers. Arguing on the virtues of galactic democracy. 

Well. Now it was her fists that were clenched. 

Liara would not allow it, the violence. Not to the University. Not to Javik. If she had to frighten this maiden to get what she needed then so be it. A dark and drumming part of her heart urged her to not hesitate and strike down the other asari where she stood.

“As for your cousin, I don’t intend on ever meeting her,” Liara tartly added, turning away again to sort through drives. A tremor flickered over the backs of her hands. “It would not end well for her, I think.”

Another long and strained silence stretched between the two asari, and Liara let it linger. A jittery energy ran through her bones, but Liara breathed deep to still the reflexive instinct to attack. Counted the canticles in her head as if again she were young and under Benezia’s instruction. Let ease and grace effuse her action to further unbalance and out-class the little spy before her.

Fraught posture telegraphed Thrasyes’s trepidation, but instead of wilting the maiden straightened. Squared her shoulders and thrust out her chin in defiance.

“Aren’t you afraid?” Trasyes’ voice was shrill. “What if they sent me here now to finish you?”

“I suspect,” Liara began, letting scorn through her teeth, “that you are as poor an assassin as you are a spy.”

A defiant sneer crawled over Thrasyes’ face, wounded pride twisting fear to anger. A fatal flaw, to let emotions flux so wildly and obviously. 

“If I were so poor at it, you wouldn’t be fleeing Illium with your tail between your legs.” 

She hummed and bit her lips to hide the reflexive sneer that rose. Evidently Liara’s own flawed pride was also in play. Arrogance, especially unchecked, could be dangerous. She’d not thought herself so easily struck by Thrasyes disdain, no matter how feigned.

Still, there was a difference between arrogance and conviction. Already Thrasyes stepped back, bluster blown and broken to reveal her lacking in the latter. Allowing a breath to maintain composure, Liara lifted her chin to shoot a quelling look at the younger asari.

“If you were in any way competent, I would already be dead.”

Thrasyes’ lip trembled, and the maiden looked away and drew into herself. 

“I was only to report on your habits,” she said quietly. “No harm done.”

And wasn’t that just tragic? So typical of the asari hierarchy of status, favours and influence that a maiden so unvalued and untrained as Thrasyes was assigned as such an obvious red herring, so very much out of her depth.

“No, that was for you cousin and her friends to do. Or did you think she dropped by so suddenly out of affection for you?” A bitter tang touched Liara’s teeth at Thrasyes’ growing resignation, boldness so quickly broken down. “Make no mistake; if your grandmother thought you capable of the deed that would have been your assignment.”

The girl had not even come armed.

“So what now?”

Liara sighed and crossed her arms.

“I leave, and you decide whether or not to remain under the thumb of that spiteful harpy of a Matriarch.”

“You say that as if there’s a choice.” This time, the bitterness was all Thrasyes’.

Pity cracked through Liara’s coldness. The weight of the Atamna’s ire was a heavy memory; a vast, insatiable malevolence that at times had threatened to swallow her whole. It was luck, mostly, that had let Liara survive so long. And sacrifice.

By all accounts, Thrasyes had no one to defend her so loyally.

“Your grandmother is a Matriarch with an old name and large debts, and lots of granddaughters to throw at the cause of whatever patron she’s beholden to in any century.” Liara raised a brow when Thrasyes looked up, shock making her features tighten. “She is not nearly as cunning or as influential as she thinks herself to be. You have potential, but it has been wasted with bad training and clumsy direction.”

The maiden’s gaze flickered, calculating and cautious. An expression that was not quite a pout drew her face together, and Thrasyes almost stepped forward in confrontation.

“Like it’s that easy to leave?” A hostile edge sharpened her tone.

“Better than getting yourself killed for a fool’s cause,” Liara retorted, waving a hand at her anger. A small part of her was glad to see Thrasyes’ fire; it would serve her better than timidness. “Get off Ilium. Get out of asari space and buy a new start.”

Of course it would not be easy, but it was not impossible either. Better the maiden flee the ramshackle of her grandmother’s ambitions than fall afoul a target less inclined to mercy. Javik would laugh at her sentiment, Liara was sure.

But Thrasyes scoffed at her advice, as if her tongue were plagued by rot. She rolled her shoulders, and then stilled. Narrow eyes made her expression intent as she looked for Liara’s reaction.

“I could spy for you. Be a double agent.” Thrasyes spoke careful and candid.

Liara hid a huff, a mask to her honest surprise and resignation. She would never truly be able to shake her reputation as an information broker. Not when the galaxy suspected her strong ties to the Shadow Broker.

Yet, such an offer should not be lightly dismissed; Thrasyes was poorly trained, but clever in her own, small way. Not that Liara could directly accept her as an agent, double or otherwise.

“I’m an archaeologist,” Liara said primly, sniffing as if the idea were absurd. “What would I do with a double agent?”

“You’re an information broker,” Thrasyes answered, eyeing Liara as if she was soft in the head.

“Was.”

“Then how did you find out about me and my family?”

Her lips thinned into a straight line, and Liara wondered how many decades it would take for her shift back to academia to be seen as genuine. 

“Maybe I hired an information broker?” Liara quipped instead. But the set of Thrasyes’ face was stubborn, and it made Liara soften her tone almost to gentle. “It is not a rewarding career, Thrasyes. Not in the long run.”

The violet markings under the V’Della girl’s eyes twitched with frustration.

“So you won’t help me?” Thrasyes’ former belligerence had returned to mask her turmoil, to line her accusation. “Even if it’s to take back my life?”

It was not easy to hear the plea for aid. So sentimental still, Liara knew, for her heart to be moved by such beseeching. Was not the reason she’d fought so against the Atamna was to give a future back to asari maidens like Thrasyes?

“I’m sick of seeing maidens sacrificed for the machinations of their Matriarchs,” Liara answered after a long, fraught moment. “But I’ll not martyr myself again.”

No, Liara had her own to look after. The clank of the data-drives against one another was stark in the silence of the laboratory. 

That did not mean, of course, that Liara could not drop a suggestive line to a certain drell associate for a possible new recruit. A double agent was a useful asset to have, after all.

.

.

**75.**

There was a strange, empty quality to the apartment; neat and orderly [bare like the bones of a dead thing]. White sheets covered the furniture, and the artefacts that Liara adorned the walls with were packed up and secreted away. 

Traces of their occupancy remained, of course. Tracks of Liara’s [frequent, bilious] restlessness, Javik’s own routine pacing [patrol]. Small shrouds of humour [clung] around the couch and living area, frustration lingering in the kitchen [some joke at her cooking] [his awkwardness of manner]. Anxiety along the windows and halls [watchful and increased of late]. 

Javik tuned most of it out as a matter of course; a minimal task to a prothean [to sort the scents of friend and foe] to prevent excessive distraction. 

For a moment though, he [indulged] allowed his senses to taste the echoes of their [imagine that] domesticity. Massani had mocked him for it [when they had last met], and warned against complacency. 

Outside, Liara struggled with her luggage and the limited space of the sky-car that would drive them to the space-port. He’d only meant to check the apartment one last time before locking up [had not meant to pause]. 

Strange [sentimental]. He had not intended to craft any particular attachment to this place. If anything, departure from Illium was considered long over-due [welcome], but the apartment had become familiar [no panic upon waking on location]. A place to return to with some sense of security.

Javik was a soldier. Had always been a soldier. His home was his duty [gun familiar in his palm] [armour like a second skin]. Choosing a place [a home] [the concept shaped strange] to reside was an indulgence war did not afford. 

A light blinked [cheerfuly] on his omni-tool, and Javik bit back his curling mouth as he brought up the message. 

_Javik,_

_You’re a stubborn bastard, leaving with so little warning. I reiterate what I said in my call; you hit a wall, call me and I will help you break it down. There are many things in this galaxy that happen without any reason, and I won’t pretend to any great force to give it all purpose. Assign meaning to your Cosmic Imperative if must, but remember that we live now in an age that can do more than mere survival. There are brighter things ahead than the darkness we’ve left behind._

_Your friend and confidant,_

_Kirot Elpida_

“Meddling, old brute,” Javik muttered to no one [a fond trill in his throat]. This cycle seemed intent on reaching out to him.

That was [supposedly] why he now found the quiet of the apartment so peculiar; he had lived here in peace. With Liara. Even now the fluster of her lingered in the air. 

They’d lived here [together] and death had not come from the sky to steal it all away.

Where they were going would have no such surety. He did not want to face death again, no matter how familiar he was with it [did not want to lose her] [lose them]. His knuckles popped as shivers ran down his spine.

Even now, Javik would [could] turn and be sure that death [choking and clogging and cloying] was raining down from the sky, only to find it [clear] blue.

Yet, the hopeful thread of Kirot’s message stuck with him [buried under his skin and chitin].

Javik shook his head [cast the musings from his carapace]. Liara awaited him, as did this new journey. Whatever came of it, would. 

.

.

**76.**

“Glyph, confirm audio-visual recording.”

“Commencing audio-visual recording,” piped the small info-drone. “Doctor Liara T’Soni; present. Unidentified sentient being; present. Location; Binthu, second planet in the Yangtze System, Voyager Cluster.” 

“One day,” Javik said testily from the M29B Grizzly that had been left for them at the long abandoned Cerberus base. “I will dismantle that drone and throw its pieces out of an airlock.” 

“Only if you promise to buy me a new one just as functional,” Liara replied, smiling at the static cackle of his grumbling over the comm-link. “Though you might be hard pressed to find one with the processing power I require.”

He only grumbled, and continued scanning the Grizzly for bugs.

Turning back to Glyph, Liara scanned its interface. Adjusting the auto-recording settings to activate by voice command, she added in other triggers, including aesthetically intriguing visual scenery and speculative dialogue regarding their surroundings.

She would, of course, be going over all archived footage with a fine toothed comb before handing it over to T’Lam and her machinations.

Double checking the visual enhancement applications, Liara shook her head. As loath as she was to document this extended research expedition in such a way, it was an inspired condition on T’Lam’s behalf. Once compiled into a feature length documentary, it would generate a profound amount of revenue and regard for the University of Metharme. She was only glad she’d managed to argue the Dean away from anything resembling a ‘live update’ of their progress.

As it was, Binthu was a planet that even the rachni would be reluctant to linger on. The grim haze of toxic chlorine and sulphurous clouds meant that they had to wear fully sealed suits if they planned on seeing the day out. Their short time on Binthu would be hot and uncomfortable.

Still, there was a sharp relief in being out on the field again. The fraught worry of the past month buzzed only distantly at the edges of her nerves.

Satisfied that Glyph’s protocols were as optimal as she could make them, Liara commanded the drone power down. Catching the complex core as it folded in on itself, she approached the bulky vehicle where Javik secured supply crates full of rations, equipment and oxygen. The site should not be more than a day’s drive from here, but given the hazardous environmental conditions, they were well over-stocked. Above them, sickly coloured clouds bruised the sky.

“Conditions do not seem ideal for an excavation,” Javik muttered as low crackle filled the air. They would have to depart soon, or risk becoming stuck in the abandoned base.

Clambering into the Grizzly, Liara shuffled around Javik as she found and appropriate place to fasten Glyph’s body down.

“Acid rain does have a way of putting people off,” Liara agreed, noting his grunt of displeasure. She was very aware of where he was crouched at her back. “Apparently there’s also a lot of structural damage to the site, so any underground areas will likely inaccessible.”

“Then what is the purpose of us being here?”

She suspected he’d not meant to sound so petulant. Turning to tease him, Liara poked his armoured shoulder and affected a scowl of her own.

“A fresh set of eyes on an established, but not particularly popular ruin seemed like a good place to start.” Liara raised her brow as the features of his face scrunched up. “Also, we can see anyone approaching for miles.” 

Javik grunted again, and returned to prepping the vehicle. 

Neither of them said much more until they’d been rattling along inside the stocky M29B Grizzly for over an hour. Liara had managed to secure the driver’s seat, and Javik had set to bracing himself against each clumsy gear change and rocky turn. They’d just crested a particularly slippery outcrop when Javik’s quiet voice broke through the rumble of the engine.

“The report said that youngling toys were uncovered at the monument.”

Her teeth dug into her bottom lip at the careful neutrality of his tone. Checking their position on the nav-system, Liara scanned the barren landscape that surrounded them.

“Yes,” she confirmed, deliberately not glancing at Javik. “The current theory is that the protheans who inhabited the compound were left behind during the Empire’s retreat.” 

Such theories was mostly conjecture, of course. So much of what the galaxy knew of the protheans had to be re-examined after the dark reality of their end had come to light. Liara doubted that anyone had actually been to the monument here on Binthu since before the war.

“Depending on what the function of the ruin was, they may have been able to endure underground for any amount of time,” she mused, before trying to steer the conversation to a safer line of inquiry. Tried not to imagine protheans huddled in the dark, whispering warnings to their children. “No real analysis of the site could ever be made due to its location and condition.”

Her heart bounced around her chest at Javik’s silence, and Liara chanced a quick look to his expression. It was as tight as she’d ever seen it, eyes pinched above his sharp cheekbones. Her ribs ached.

“Until the Reapers found them,” he said at last, letting out a long breath.

Still chewing on her lip, Liara studied the twisting sky over her knuckles on the steering wheel.

“That is what we can assume,” Liara agreed, though her voice felt heavier than expected. More sombre then the impartiality she’d been aiming for. “There’s little evidence. I have the files on the data-disc found on site somewhere.”

A small noise seemed caught in his throat, though she could not make much of it. Her palm itched to reach for him, but the bulk of the Grizzly over rough terrain left Liara’s hands occupied.

“Javik…” His name escaped her soft tongue before she knew what it was she wanted to say. What the right words would be. Not for the first time, Liara wondered at her cruelty.

“I am fine, Liara,” Javik assured, catching her worried glance with a haughty tilt too his head. “I know the fate of my people. Such echoes cannot harm me.”

“Ok,” she assented, lips thin with a worry only just placated. 

.

.

**77.**

Liara had warned him that the monument here on Binthu was no great wonder [she was right]. A plain featured pyramid, barely three stories high [minimalistic in design] [sensible and subtle]. Really, the only reason it had been labelled a monument was that the [witless] asari and salarian archaeologists who had first discovered the site had mistaken it for one.

Any half-clever fool should have been able to identify it as the entrance of a larger [deeper] [more secret] complex. Apparently [embarrassingly], it had taken the ‘experts’ of this cycle three hundred years to realise their error and seek to further enter the complex.

They had not gotten far.

Javik had snorted [at the foolishness of primitives] to see the initial chamber; it was so obviously a primary processing area. Though whatever personnel had manned this facility were long gone, the triangular design [the sublime conjoined ‘v’s] of the interior indicated it likely it had been for research of some kind. 

Very little else remained [picked clean as ever ruins were]. Clearly the site had been emptied first by scientists and then by thieves [and didn’t that make his gut curdle]. Still, Javik found himself looking on the residual mess with a more curious than mournful eye.

It’s [prothean] inhabitants perished long ago. Nothing he felt now would change that.

“You know,” Liara said over her shoulder, crouched in front of the sealed doors that marked the limitations of all other expeditions. The [infernal little] drone hovered at her side, skittering about the hexagonal corridor. “This security design is very similar to the one I was excavating on Therum when Shepard first found me.”

Javik grunted as he ran bare hands over the cool ceramic panels of the [surrounding] wall [was sure, certain in his search]. Time and dust had drawn away most of the markers of his people [cool and worn like sandstone]. But that was not what he was looking for.

“There was a standard template, by my time,” he replied, feeling the indentured edge [two indents an arms width apart] he’d sought for in the wall. “Simple in its effectiveness and elegance, and quick to construct.”

Neither of them mentioned that the simplicity had been from necessity [frantic construction to dam the spilling tide]. For all previous blunders, this cycle had [at least] managed to date the site with some margin of accuracy.

Liara cleared her throat, bending down at the security panel she was trying to hack. 

“Yes, well. Sturdy too, to be working after all this time.”

“We built things to last.” Javik stopped his searching and frowned [tickle of a thought in his mind]. It was enough to make him face her. “Were you not trapped when the Commander encountered you?”

Even from behind, the flush of azure Liara blushed was [satisfyingly] evident [fluttered her discomfort]. Javik felt his mouth twitch when she did not reply. 

“Strung up in a gravity field, was it?” Aggravation [stark and silver] poked over her shoulders.

“I didn’t realise you’d read the report,” Liara said primly [and oh was this fun], pretending to be particularly engrossed in her task. 

“I read all the files available to me on the Normandy,” Javik informed her [teeth cut in a smile]. A twist of amusement threaded at his ribs.

“Yes. Well. Not my finest moment.” The asari sat back on her heels and threw a wry [striking] smile back at him. “I half thought I was hallucinating when Shepard and the others arrived. She had to blow through the barrier with a mining laser to let me out.”

Throwing back his head, Javik bared his teeth in some approximation of an [unrestrained] chuckle [felt the hum of it over his clavicles]. The primitives should have expected the technology of the protheans to retain its edge [had not come close].

“Rest assured,” he jeered, but it was not sharp. “Should you get caught again, I will need no such drastic measures to release you.”

“Well that is a comfort.” Liara rolled her eyes [mirrored compliance]. 

A click sounded at his fingertips, and both were distracted from the main door as the small panelling on wall before Javik slid smoothly [stiffly] open. 

It was only a small maintenance hatch [common enough in constructions of his time], empty but for a decrepit cleaning drone and beam fallen in from the ceiling. Time could not fully be eluded, after all, but Liara was pleased by the find [at least]. 

Still, it did not help their advance into the facility [a minor victory] [in her delight]. 

Liara returned to her futile fight with the security panel as Javik turned back to their camp to retrieve a storage crate for the broken drone. Amusement [only slightly sour] tickled his throat to think that such a basic thing was of such worth in this cycle. No doubt the T’Lam and her [greedy] sycophants would be count the cost it accorded them.

He was returning [crate and grav-trolley weighted as he pushed] when a long, loud creak crackled through the hexagonal corridor [through his knees and elbows and ribs], followed by a digitized shriek and the raw clash of iron on ceramic.

The shockwave of it sent him sprawling [bruised his palms], and Javik gaped as silt slid [like a wave] through the collapsed bones of the ruin, dust thick in the air.

Javik choked, scrambling to his [unsteady] feet midst fresh rubble. He slipped, flailing wildly against the crate and trolley as he rushed [limped] to the mess of ceramic, stone and solder that had come down over the [immovable] [impenetrable] door.

[No].

[NO].

“Liara,” Javik croaked, knees weak as he stumbled closer. She had been working on the security panel think, think]. Surely the gravity field had sprung again to-

But there was only a ragged, iron beam thrust [vicious and violently] into the cease of wall and floor where the panel [where she] had been.

His brain would not [could not] [refused to] complete the map of correlated facts to their [final] [oh so final] conclusion.

Dust was on his tongue, in his throat and eyes, and Javik blinked back streams.

He couldn’t even see her [body], there was so much wreckage.

Another loud creak further threatened, but Javik could not tear his eyes away from the space where Liara had been working [she had just been] [had smirked his way]. The breath had frozen in his lungs and he was on his knees in the wretched ruin [hand shaking] [teeth cold and bare].

[She had just been there].

“Javik?” 

At once, his chest pitched, sucking in air [filling the vast, despairing void that had been his truth], and every inch of Javik’s fraught-filled feeling thanked the [capricious] universe for this one, small [yet so large] mercy.

“Javik, are you hurt?” Her voice rang with worry.

Blinking [like the blind], Javik twisted around to where a dirty and dust covered Liara [yes, oh please] clambered out of the newly discovered maintenance hatch, concern bubbling over her brow and belly.

[He wanted to curse] [he wanted to pray].

She was alive.

And breadth of what that meant [to him] [for her] [what he had seen in those quick moments of her believed death] shook Javik to the core.

“No,” he grunted, turning away from her wide [blue] eyes and reaching hands [turned them aside]. “I am fine.”

He trembled [hearts beating like an ancient, star-burst hammer].

[He was not fine].

.

.

**78.**

Liara sat inside the M29B Grizzly and watched the sickly curl of Binthu’s sky. Five days they had spent enduring this poison of a planet, and she honestly could not wait to be back on a ship and out of her suit.

The hatch on the Grizzly was down and sealed, so at least she could remove her helmet; a rare luxury of their stay here. Indulgent, but Captain Aanja of the Óres had a report and the suffocating atmosphere of the past few days had almost been too much.

A small frown ticked her brow as Javik stalked out of the abandoned Cerberus base that was again their point of contact. Only a few hours until pick up, and it could not come sooner. Against the muted colours of Binthu, the prothean’s silhouette was hunched over as he kicked at a loose piece of debris.

“Doctor?” Aanja’s plush, full lips were pursed on the onmi-tool projection.

“Sorry,” Liara shook her head, and brought back her focus. “You were saying?”

Aanja blinked, but made no comment to her distraction. 

“V’Della, Stakos and the Arrow are still skulking around the Feros, and we’ve got people on the Doloma Sisters as they remain on Illium.” The steel grey of the Captain’s face seemed carved from marble. “As far as we can tell, the false trails we left are taking. They’re too clever to go charging in, but we’re biding our time.”

Liara tapped a nail against the dashboard; Feros was one of their destinations. Granted, not for a time yet, but if Lucen’s eyes lingered it could prove a problem. Feros was an easy planet to get lost midst ruins in, but she’d rather not take chances. 

“Good, though I do want more information on who’s funding them and how they’re communication so subtly,” Liara mused out loud. Despite the efforts of her agents, finding a reliable and constant tap on the extremist group was proving a challenge. There seemed to be no way to trace their support directly back to Thessia either. “Did you get the Shadow Broker dossiers I sent you?”

“Yes, but Little Mother,” Aanja’s wide nose flared as her gaze turned pinched. “How confidant are you of the Shadow Broker’s loyalty?”

Dipping her chin, Liara contemplated her answer. Her commandos knew she had close ties to the Shadow Broker, but she had kept their operations separate and aside. To protect them, and her, and to provide some mask of legitimacy, and it did not do to carry all of one’s cards in the one sleeve.

“He won’t betray me until it is really worth his while,” Liara assured; a half truth of sorts. “Though, double checking any leads he sends out would be prudent.” 

Aanja nodded once, decisively and in approval. Likely the Captain already did; her tenacity and thoroughness had made her one of Aethyta’s best operatives. Small wonder that Liara’s father had gifted her Aanja’s expertise. 

“Have been doing the Chahhu I showed you?”

“Yes,” Liara answered, lips quirking as again her father’s protective streak manifested. 

“Good,” Aanja said, face smooth in her default composure. “You should spar regularly with Messere Javik, if you don’t already. Your close-quarters combat could always use more work.”

At his name, Liara’s eyes lifted away from the screen to scan the terrain for the ill-tempered prothean. He was not in sight, and Liara tapped her finger again.

Not that Aanja was wrong, but she doubted Javik’s current mood would be conducive to improving her martial form. Or perhaps it would be?

“Did Aethyta ask you to tell me this?” Liara asked after a pause; she would not put it past the old Matriarch. 

The Captain stared placidly but potently and gave away nothing of her thoughts.

“She worries about you,” Aanja said quietly, eyes dimming at some past sorrow. “As we all do, Little Mother.”

That slipped the breath from Liara’s throat. Those asari commandos that had followed and protected and died for her as the paragons of Thessia stretched out their cruel influence across the stars; nothing could repay that debt. They had done so first from loyalty to Aethyta, and then for belief in Liara’s cause. In Liara. 

And still, Aanja and Vaalsa and the rest had dropped everything to help her hunt down this new threat. She could not make light of that devotion.

“Well,” Liara huffed, but lightly and with a smile. “Rest assured, once Javik is talking to me again, I will endeavour to polish my technique.”

The image of the Captain began to nod, and then paused. Slowly, amusement crept through Aanja’s façade as she leant back in her seat with folded arms. For all their age and wisdom, asari were awful gossips. Liara sighed internally. 

“A disagreement?”

Liara scowled.

“More like a…close call,” she admitted, remembering the crash of stone and steel. Javik’s strange and strangled cry.

Shaking off her discomfort, Liara cast her best imperious look. It was to little avail; Aanja had far too much nerve and experience to be fooled by a maiden’s bluff.

“Anything Aethyta would want to hear of?” Aanja inquired, clearly enjoying the new development.

Outside of the Grizzly, Javik swung his head up to look her way. Discontent ran rigid over his body. The visor of his helmet masked any expression Liara might have made out, leaving her alone to deal with the tight squeeze of her heart. 

“Nothing she needs to hear of,” replied Liara primly. “We’re working through it.”

“Hmm.” 

Captain Aanja did not sound convinced.

Liara thought she might agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my Glob this took forever. Posting now, but I'll probably nitpick later. And it had taken so long to get to this point. Archaeology adventures! Espionage! Space! How do they ever balance it all?
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoy, and that the tone till feels consistent. I've 80% organised the story arc, so hopefully updates will come a little more frequently. 
> 
> Glossary
> 
> Atamna: Athame high priestesses  
> Arthana: Thessia’s capital city. Where the Temple of Athme was located.  
> Chahhu: Asari biotic dance routine.  
> Fyaer: Thessian thorned flower.  
> Kamada: Prothean word for the imperial court.  
> Maalume: Prothean overseers/moral managers.  
> Marbar Ya: Prothean word for the carers of young.  
> Shihiid: Martyr  
> Soaxiib: Prothean word for comrade, typically referring to experienced, familiar military teams.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Javik?” Now at the foot of the platform, she hesitated, wary even to place a hand on the pillar closest to her. As if it all might crumble to be defaced by one such as herself.
> 
> She saw the line of his shoulders tremble as the prothean drew back the hand that had been reaching for that shining circle of silver. Javik’s sun-gold stare almost burned through his visor when he turned, startled as if he’d forgotten her presence. Her hands wound together at her stomach, and Liara resisted the urge to bite her bottom lip; he seemed so truly alien in that instance. Foreign and far.
> 
> Yet, his triangular head tilted just so, and Javik extended a three fingered hand in clear invitation.

.

.

 **79.**

A tinny light hung over the cramped mess hall of the small transporter they’d hitched a ride on, lending a yellow sheen to his surroundings. It was mostly empty, being that optimal time during which all crew were either on shift or committed to whatever leisure they’d chosen to distract themselves with.

Those few that lingered in the mess hall gave Javik a wide berth [big and bulking] [alien to their uncertain eyes] [good] as he sat at a small corner table. Besides, they were paid enough for this side venture to allow him suitable space and silence. Especially desirable given the person he was in current correspondence with.

“Does loss sit so uneasily with you?” 

Javik bristled under that solemn, singular stare.

“I am a prothean soldier, Commander. I am used to loss,” he all but bit out [tasted unintended, tart vehemence]. “I have lost everything.”

Shame scratched at his gums and tongue [for the very thought] [the discourse he so needed].

Shepard, as ever, did not rile at his rumbling discontent. Even through the jagged vid-feed, her careful empathy ran smooth and sure. She squinted slightly, trying to read his expression, before sighing.

“Maybe the question is what you have found now that you so fear losing?”

The joint of his jaw popped as uncertainty wormed into the bile of his belly. Fear was for younglings [too young to know better], for those who [mistakenly] believed in the mercy and justice of the universe as real and righteous things. For the weak and weeping.

[You are a soldier]

He was none of those things.

[Was he?]

“Bah!” Javik snapped [ire wrought and right] [ridiculous]. “Fear! I have witnessed untold horrors that makes the atrocities of this cycle look like child’s play.” 

That was no lie.

Fire lit behind his eyes as Javik pressed away the shards of trauma; [once] loyal protheans cutting deep into their own bellies to allow husks [blue traced through their jaws] to feast and infect. Scooped out [soft] and small [too small] carapaces dangling in the wind in [wretched] offering and appeasement. Hoards of the indoctrinated on bended knees as calmly [pleasantly] they tore out their own eyes.

To think, Shepard thought him afraid!

But did his worn knuckles whine and his blood freeze to recall [just] that moment when all he’d seen was an [unending] iron beam wedged against a wall. 

“This peace!” Javik snarled, loud enough to startle the crew and widen Shepard’s eye. “To think it is this I cannot endure.”

How he was glad Liara was [safe] ensconced [asleep] in the small quarters granted them by the surly captain.

Gritting his teeth, the prothean dropped his gaze away from his patient friend; there were too many conflicting things in him to be coherent.

A long, low sigh came from the vid, with the whir of prosthetics as Shepard ran a hand though her hair.

“It seems false, at times,” she agreed quietly [breath raw and rasping]. “If you look away for one second it all will come crashing down.”

The worms [of worry] in his gut turned gluttonous and gnawed him carved out and cavernous. Blocked his throat and clawed at his sense nodes.

“Then how do it?” Fingers dug into the unfeeling table as Javik beseeched [accused] [raged] the Commander. “You have made yourself roots! Opted to raise and become attached to young with a life-mate! Do you not tremble at how vulnerable you have become?”

[how?]

[HOW?]

Was the human not numb with terror? It had only been for half a minute, but Javik had seen this cycle with an asari shaped hole and he could not-

Could not-

Shepard exhaled [silver and shaky], and Javik started up from his bone-white fingers pressed against the table.

“Javik, my friend,” rasped the human [still stern] [read authority]. “Breath.”

His chest, the prothean realised, was [painful] full to bursting. Heat clamoured at his nodes and nostrils.

Gathering the frayed threads of his composure, Javik hissed out the pressure in his chest. And inhaled [wrestled away the anxiousness].

Shepard nodded [approval much needed], settling herself on the other-side of the vid as she too closed her eyes and searched for strength. Wondered too, that she shared such weakness [a human] [a warrior] [avatar of victory] [mask it together]. She too was his soaxiib.

“For a long time after Mindoir,” Shepard began. “I told myself all I needed was a gun in my hand. Everything else was a lie. Even the Alliance, and the security and comradery it provided, seemed only workable because we all knew that we walked hand in hand with death.”

The world began and ended in the harsh waves of her voice [learn, boy] [there were truths there]. Yes. Javik did not look away, teeth sharp behind taught lips [he knew this story] [if in fragments].

[You are a soldier].

[Fight on].

[We are nothing more than the weapons we wield].

[Will you cut us all down?]

[Yes].

“Losing my squad on Akuze was then inevitable. And yet, after, I was so empty. I couldn’t-“

And here Shepard stopped, brow drawn over a downcast gaze. Javik did not need to be present to know that emotion [regret] [anger] [sorrow] clouded over her skin; he’d felt the same [bloody knife in hand] in the red dust of Petro Ria.

With a stark sniff, the human ran the back of her organic hand over her face. Paused, to reveal her obsidian eye as bright as ever.

“I didn’t want loss to be the defining feature of my life,” Shepard told him, and there was such strength there [for him to envy]. His pulse fluttered. “My mother-she always said ‘If there’s life, then there’s the world’, and against everything I was still alive.”

Shepard sighed and Javik ran his dry tongue over the edges of his teeth. Rolled the words over his throat [swallowed his hope]. Shepard believed them, drew from them [a marvel].

“To be alive is enough?” Javik asked [unbeliever] [too simple and easy]. 

“Maybe.” 

That made his jaw clench.

“But you-this cycle,” Javik seethed, quiet and querulous. “We knew the threat of sentient machines; our Empire was built on it! But the Reapers came and all our knowledge and protocols and passion were burned up by them.”

It did not make sense. The Cosmic Imperative demanded strength and allowed no mercy. Had they met in battle, this galactic Council would have been torn apart by the Empire of old [so sure] [surely?].

Why then, the bright light of victory that had pierced every synthetic core? The miracle of Shepard’s second [or was it third] rebirth? Javik, turning from despair to find Liara clambering out [whole and well]?

The universe, the Cosmic Imperative, was not gentle or kind or merciful.

And yet-

[freckles and mhya and cerulean blue and she was alive] [was sleeping].

“We got lucky, this cycle.” Shepard’s admission broke of his [frightening] revelation. “I know we did. Our luck and our peace is built on the backs of the innumerable dead.”

A sour, strained laugh tumbled from Javik’s mouth.

“So it was cruel chance then? That saved this cycle? That doomed my own?”

Shepard shrugged [with the weight of that chance] and picked idly at her bionic hand.

“What else could it be?” Dark strands of her human hair fell over Shepard’s umber complexion; scars still stark and puckered where they lay. “As you said, the prothean Empire was far more advanced at the first point of contact.”

“I do not know if I can stand such a capricious end,” Javik admitted, throat tight [strangled and sore].

A crooked smile quirked Shepard’s mouth, as her expression was gentle when she leaned forward in her seat.

“Then say it was our unity that saved us, our alliances,” Shepard dipped her head with tired amusement and twirled an organic hand. “Our petty differences and varied strengths. It will still hurt all the same.”

The two old soldiers shared a long and measured silence.

“If Liara were to die, I would endure,” Javik said at last, throat aching at the thought. “But I do not know if there would be any joy left for me in life.”

That, too, was a surrender.

Shepard’s returning laugh was humourless [sour and sore], but not unkind. 

“We are what we are, Javik. What we have become will not change that.” Her voice rasped at his auditory canals. “And we are survivors.”

.

.

 **80.**

Verdant moss blanketed the uneven terrain, and Liara puffed again as condescension fogged her visor. Eletania was not much better than Binthu when it came to hospitable environments, but at least the weather was pleasant. 

Slipping as lichen scraped off stone, Liara bit back another curse. The thick layer of non-vascular foliage that coated Eletania’s surface was deceptively frustrating to trek over; she’d almost twisted her ankle at least twice. Javik, of course, seemingly had no trouble. He had only sniffed at her clumsiness. Glyph hovered behind her obligingly.

It was markedly better than his abject avoidance in communicating with her; their ventures in Quana and Sharring’s moons had been fraught with awkward formality. At least now Javik deigned to meet her gaze.

“Asari,” he barked from where he stood on the lip on the incline, and Liara gritted her teeth. “I’ve located the rostrum.” 

Looking down the other slope of the rise, Javik made a dismissive gesture before disappearing over the edge.

Muttering commando curses to herself, Liara forged ahead with tired limbs.

The rostrum, as Javik called it, was nestled in a small gully midst a mass of grey-green algae. It was strikingly similar to the one Shepard had found on the far side of the planet, all those years ago when hunting Saren. It was not a new find, but chills ran up her spine and crest regardless.

Caught up in wonder, Liara sighed as she slid down the incline to join her friend. The diameter of the smooth, glassy platform was easily a hundred metres, circled by five geometric pillars at least a head taller than Javik, and another, much more prominent limb that rose high like an obelisk. Dark ripples ran over every poised surface. 

All that paled before the sleek and silver sphere that rose in the construction’s middle, every angle of the monument bending almost in worship towards it.

Liara could barely breath but for the beauty of it.

And Javik, so tall and true before the sphere. He was as worn as this construction, and every part as sure and splendid in the proud bearing of his posture.

“Javik?” Now at the foot of the platform, she hesitated, wary even to place a hand on the pillar closest to her. As if it all might crumble to be defaced by one such as herself.

She saw the line of his shoulders tremble as the prothean drew back the hand that had been reaching for that shining circle of silver. It was a well-known archaeological quandary as to how it and others like it, all attached to such monuments, had not been pilfered. But, it seemed that monetary greed and academic interest where both insufficient to remove to separate sphere from stage.

Javik’s sun-gold stare almost burned through his visor when he turned, startled as if he’d forgotten her presence. Her hands wound together at her stomach, and Liara resisted the urge to bite her bottom lip; he seemed so truly alien in that instance. Foreign and far.

Yet, his triangular head tilted just so, and Javik extended a three fingered hand in clear invitation.

Letting out a breath she’d forgotten she’d been holding, Liara stepped up onto the rostrum. Immediately came the soft clamour at her skin, associated with all monuments; it tickled at the senses at her throat, wrists and crest. Glyph stuttered as it followed, but righted itself soon enough.

With swift steps, Liara crossed to the centre, almost relieved once she slipped a hand into Javik’s offered palm. 

“Stay close,” he said, distant in both manner and mettle. No projection peeked through his touch, so Liara followed lead and held back her own inquisitive connection.

“A rostrum,” Javik began, voice deep and full of pride. “Used to rouse hearts and unify minds. In the Golden Age, entire systems would sing together for the Empire.”

Again he reached for the silk of the sphere, and an interface arose beneath his fingers. Liara squinted, trying to make sense of the patterns of light arose at Javik’s commands, the lines of coded data. His fingers dipped down and splayed, and at once the air popped.

“The atmosphere is breathable,” Javik informed her mildly, ignoring Liara’s gasp as the angles of his helmet drew back to reveal his face. “Do not leave the perimeter, however.”

“H-how?” Liara exclaimed incredulously, even as she pulled her head free of her own helmet. No cloying quality to the air rasped at her throat and tongue, and she looked up at her companion in wonder. “The barrier is not even visible.”

“Not to you,” Javik snorted.

Liara tucked her helmet under her arm and circled on the spot. Not even the slightest distortion was visible to her sight, and she wet her lips in wonder.

“This is amazing!” Liara’s grin as she turned back threatened to crack her face, and Javik blinked as she beamed up at him. “How is the purification done? And why did a rostrum need breathable air?”

Questions bubbled at her throat despite her best intentions. The thirteen structures that had been identified as rostrum were dotted far and wide apart the galaxy. All were of the same design, whether isolated on a barren landscape or nestled midst a metropolitan ruin.

Javik hummed and dipped his chin, this time bringing up both hands to the sphere. The strange, layered interface emerged again and Liara peered at the complexity of it, picking out small pieces of coherency. Still, it was largely intelligible to her, shifting and swarming with many layers and too swiftly for her to lock down on meaning.

“I have told you that the canticles of the Empire were sung through the stars,” Javik answered after a moment, smug in his superiority and her captivation.

Liara let a pout plump her mouth.

“I thought you were being metaphorical,” she scowled as she tracked trails of data.

“A dangerous and careless assumption,” Javik smirked, eyes flicking her way. “Shall I show you?”

The retort Liara had been about to fling at his way snapped to a halt with her mouth. Another shiver ran down her spine and Liara tried not to bob on the balls of her feet.

“Can you?” Nervous energy made her expression wide and hopeful.

The lids of Javik’s eyes bent into an incredulous look, and Liara flushed.

“Will you?”

Without a word, he hooked a finger and thumb around her wrist and tugged her toward him. Her pounding heart beat at the base of her throat as Javik’s large hands set on her shoulders and turned her to face the sphere. At her back, he was warm and solid, and Liara set her teeth together to hide the pleasure she felt at his proximity. She dropped her helmet.

A soft, satisfied snort sounded too close at her auricular, and Javik reached around to slide the backs of his hands under her hovering palms. Even through their gloves and suits, Liara sighed internally to feel the prickle of their mental sensory exchange.

“Keep still,” instructed Javik, voice a low rumble that rolled delightfully over her skin. His breath touched her jaw. “And don’t distract me.”

“And how would I manage that?” But her voice was thick and husky and Liara pressed at his knuckles with her fingertips. His presence hummed at the edges of her mind.

Javik snorted, then hushed her, and then began.

[ _Oh hear now, ye pride of the people, precious pieces of the whole_ ].

Understanding swamped Liara like a waterfall [crashing and coursing]; the light veil of their [his, her] meld translating the bright broad strokes of his voice and volmerolfaction. Javik [the voice of the protheans] held up his hands to the shimmering sphere [perfect like the moon, the sun and divine], and opal light crested up and over like the shattering of [diamond] glass. 

Everything buzzed and hummed and she read so much in the air [clear and cool] [clogged and heaving]. Tasted it, tasted them, but before Liara could investigate that fully, Javik sung [oh hear now].

The rostrum was an amplifier [a speaker] [an answerable], Liara realised in stunned comprehension. It pushed out the rich, red-ochre timbre [worn with rust and disuse] [it had been so long] of Javik’s voice out and out and out.

She felt golden skylines and twirling spires [impossible shapes], reaching ever out from their roots [weathered deep in the rock and earth]. Toward that ever-fixed mark behind the stars [further]. It should have been discordant [clamouring and clashing], for also came the hexagon of hives [first breath of beginning], the regiment of routine [wielded and wrought], the power of purpose [duty and destiny] and it came and it came.

The sphere was white-hot now, as were the pillars that surrounded [cradled] them, and there were star-scapes in her eyes and victory in her blood. Here fell the [abomination] synthetics of the Metacon War. The [heretic] kwavela at System Utukya [left ruined in reminder]. All those who defied and distracted and who made them [the Empire] stronger.

Oh hear of Avatar Vehemence [yellow with fury], who battered the [corrupt and arrogant] Iten Conglomerate in the Age of Ire. 

Oh hear of Avatar Valiant [peach pure and unfaltering] who single-handedly foiled the burning of the forty-sixth Kamada [how the traitors howled] when all others had fallen. 

Oh hear of [most august] Ukum Kani, thirty-fourth Vuntaar Kre Boqor [praised be the name of the strong] [pioneer] [warrior] [emperor], who first pushed to assimilate those races weaker [primitive] under the Empire’s armoured arm. 

[ _Oh hear, oh hear_ ].

The accolades stretched and swarmed and searched for other songs to join their symphony [wove their stories into a whole]. To span the planet, the system, the Empire. Let their strength and song reach every last cog in this perfect machine and show what and how and why the Prothean Empire remained [would be] eternal.

Dreadnoughts, built with their own rostrum, would carry the accolades further and further and further into the endless halls of space. 

But the harmonies did not come [the note was not met]. The realisation hit Liara like a bullet to the chest and it felt like the world was gone and all there was beneath her feet hung air. Carved out her ribcage and all its contents [and life] and left nothing but silence.

And the hymn went on [in desperate hope], bouncing around this corner of Eltania, searching and searching and there were tears now that ran down her cheeks.

But it was alone. A solitary song, and in its singularity, it faded. 

[ _Oh hear now, the last voice of the protheans_ ].

Liara hiccupped as the last tune of Javik’s voice sunk to silence. Her breath was hitched, and her knees and arms ached for holding position for so long. The sun had shifted in the sky and her face itched.

Under her own, Javik’s hands were trembling. The soft pant of his turmoil sounded strained. The glare of the sphere faded, as did the unfolding awareness her meld with Javik had afforded her. But she did not need it to know his pain.

Liara wound her fingers over his and pulled them into her chest, engulfing them with her acknowledgment and emotion.

A heavy pressure fell on one shoulder, and Liara heard the scrape of teeth against her armour through a long and shuddering sigh. He did not project back to her, merely sunk against what she had offered. 

Blinking back her tears, Liara tilted her head to the sky. The all-encompassing awareness of Javik’s chant that had run through each fibre of her body left her raw and tender, even as the knowledge of it flittered now to faded memory. The clouds above looked stark and brittle.

So, here lay an answer to the source of the prothean’s sense of unity, their adherence to the Empire’s cause. Liara was an asari, and even she had felt the fevered pull of purpose. The connection.

Here lay also Javik; last of the protheans, hero of the Reaper War. The one who held her all.

He was trying so hard to keep his loss his own.

Liara pressed his hands harder into her chest, as if to envelope them into herself. To hold him safe, for all that he just hung there.

“Javik,” she said at last, licking her lips at her heavy, clumsy voice. “Javik, do you hear me?”

A long, low groan answered, muffled against the ceramic plating of her suit. The flutter of his hurt was like an echo against Liara’s skin.

“Javik,” she tried again, leaning her head to the side so that it brushed his own. “I’m here.”

His thick arms around her tightened reflexively, and Javik’s sigh brushed against Liara’s cheek where his face pressed against her jaw.

“I know,” Javik mumbled. His next aside was barely a breath. “You are here.”

.

.

 **81.**

For all the dangers entailed, Javik was glad again to be surrounded by people. The initial intensity of their expedition had shocked him [his ability to still feel], despite Shepard’s assurances. Javik was just glad to regain some equilibrium [measure himself against other primitives] [find them wanting] [foolish] [free]. 

Though the pilot colony on Quana came with its own peculiarities and potential hazards, the cluster of scientists, researchers and engineers was comforting in its bustle. ExoGeni [methodical in their enterprise and profits] had spared no expense in resurrecting what the Reapers had lazily ripped asunder.

What was not comforting was the way his focus tore at the asari currently stalking around the training ring. Brittle light shone down in the internal arena [hid nothing] and gleamed over her pebbled skin [flushed and fine].

Distracted [again].

Clad in the firm, cropped shirt and leggings of her exercise attire, Javik was uncomfortably [profoundly] aware of the dip of Liara’s hips [too smooth and full] [but] into her pants and the [long] line of her belly. He could taste the [her] endorphins in the air.

Javik suddenly felt very hot, and he grit his teeth at the [unacceptable] attention it took from him.

Ridiculous really. He’d seen her so attired and in such a state before [smooth and silent in the Chahhu]. There were many unsettling elements to living with an asari in a primitive cycle, but her state of dress [or undress] had never been one of them.

Rolling his shoulders, Javik bared his teeth at the furrow of her concentration; she’d yet to best him in a bout [would stay that way]. While Liara was not the worst combatant he’d ever wrestled with, she [clearly] lacked the finely honed finesse of a true [disciple] soldier. Bereft of biotics and weaponry, Liara second guessed each move and counter [loudly] when there was no time to do so. 

About them, a few of ExoGeni’s off-duty security staff milled about in idle curiosity. The small, indoor ring often drew a crowd to help ignore the frighting cold [boredom and betting fizzing out] of the ice planet. More so, Javik had noted, when he was in the ring.

Breathing deep [drew in and down], Javik banished his distraction and lunged. Felt the startle burst from Liara’s neck and chest as she lashed out to deflect [paused a fraction on instinct] his first strike.

It was easy, then, to turn his arms to grab her wrist and elbow [fingers a vice], twist his hips and step away to spin her down and around and into the floor [had done so many times already].

[But] 

The world spun, even as he registered her other fist [tight] against his chest and felt the smooth swing of her weight pull [him] down even as she fell. He went right over the top and over his head [rang shock], and in less than a breath, Javik found himself [hard] on his back and stiff [sore and still] as Liara sat on his chest and pinned down his arms with her knees.

He wheezed, and then spluttered, for she had a hand on his throat, thumb and forefinger digging into the [tender] spaces behind his voice-box. A flush of satisfaction [crisp and heated] came when she pressed down harder [harder, he’d told her], adamant at his refusal to yield. Javik let the pressure grow [it was a relief] until at last he tapped his hand to show submission [inconceivable].

The pressure let off instantly [met by concern], and Javik blinked [stupidly] up at the shining blue figure still atop him. Her weight buried painfully against his bottom ribs and diaphragm [trapped his breath], legs firm where they surrounded his torso [an anchor in the sea-bed]. The backs of his hands scraped [uselessly] against the dirt.

It was only an instant, but Javik looked up at Liara, and she stared down at him, and a surge of fresh heat [want] coursed through his blood like a furious storm.

Liara bit her lower lip, hands patting his chest [to assure and reassure] as she climbed slowly off. All he could do was gaze at her with wide-eyed wonder, struck still and silent by the sudden pang her retreat left against his [thick and thrumming] skin.

“Are you alright, Javik?” Liara asked [soft ocean blue of worry clouded her face] when still he did not rise. 

The dry bob of his throat worked hard to swallow [was wanting water]. Javik forced himself to blink, to breathe against the shock of his arousal. 

[Impossible].

Grunting, Javik levied himself up to shrug away her concern.

[He was a soldier].

“That was an acceptable counter,” he told her gruffly, pulling at each shoulder to stretch his back and deltoids [pull out the foreign feeling in each muscle] and rolled them back. A dip in her gaze slid to the movement it made of his torso.

He noticed [preened inwardly], then faltered.

“You’re not hurt,” she inquired again, [salt slick] brow creased at his [damned] further distraction. “You seemed a bit dazed.”

Javik dropped his arms to his sides and shook his head [folly and fear ebbed and flowed]. Fluster fluttered over his mouth and cheeks [mortifying], and he shook his head as if to dispel the sensation.

“Call it surprise,” he said, lips drawn back [flush with anger]. “Your previous performances contradict the skill of that last bout.”

Liara scowled [predictably] [thankfully] and tossed her head back, only narrowly holding back a curse. It made his lips curl [pulse trip] to see.

“You still think too much. An asari trait, perhaps,” Javik continued glibly. “Combat will not wait for you to assess and catalogue your options.”

“I know that,” Liara snapped [ire rippled round her spine], stalking away to pick up the towel that hung off the railing. “It’s remembering not to use biotics when we’re sparring.”

Yes, this was better [safer] [familiar].

“You ought to have mastery over it, as you would a limb.”

“You are insufferable.”

His bark of laughter followed her out of the ring, and he watched [admired] her cross, little form.

And winced.

Javik retrieved his towel [thought not on the swell of her hips], and nodded absent-mindedly at the [perfunctory] congratulations and compliments of the onlookers [did not dwell on them]. 

The issue was not, as Kirot had [so slyly] informed him [an awkward conversation months past], that with mental equilibrium came renewed reproductive impulse. Javik was accustomed [conditioned] to pushing aside [obsolete] individual desire in favour of duty.

He was used to the stress that banished all else but survival [what need had he for personal satisfaction?].

While Javik was mildly annoyed that his body had decided he should mate whilst on an expedition [a thinly veiled attempt to flee from assassins], that was not what had him fleeing the field. 

No, the perplexing [alarming] part was the nights where his renewed libido attempted to bully him into action [no]. It was becoming increasingly harder to picture a face with four [two] [blue] gleaming eyes purring down at him and hands with the correct amount of digits [five-no-three] running across his [bowed and bent] body.

Most inconvenient. And alarming.

Javik put it down to [increased and constant] proximity. 

Well, mostly that. He was well aware that there was very little in this [wretched, new, victorious] cycle that he held in particular attachment. Surely it was natural that his body should [impetuously] decide it was attracted to the one that he now fought [lived] for. 

Belatedly, he realised that he’d hunched his shoulders [cowering coward]. Straightening, Javik shook his head as he approached the shower block.

Liara too, he knew [smelt, felt], was occasionally struck with desire for him [it thrummed from her neck, thighs, belly]. Biology worked against her in that regard [that asari thirst for difference]. But, Liara held herself apart. Did not approach him with smouldering eyes and swaying steps [as so many others had]. Bit her lip and turned away to her data and her scans despite the deep flush across her [star-cape] cheeks when he tasted her longing on the air.

It did not help that since Eletania, her eyes tracked him with an almost prothean [piercing] perception [she read him well now].

Their work, he knew, was their saving grace; Liara’s research was an escape and a redemption for her [for him]. Her determination to put aside such impulses for their shared endeavour was something he admired greatly [what other primitive would show such restraint?]. Indeed, she was worthy of being named his soaxiib [he’d accepted that long ago].

It was almost a relief to occupy a shower and blast cold water down his [hot] back. They were bound [he and she] by the bloody path they had shared, and the river which they wished to walk through to clean their feet.

Best, then, to endure this with the same such grace, and wait [hope] it [his desire] eventually faded. 

.

.

 **82.**

He was seated in what once had been a prothean council hall, perched on a small bench of typical ExoGeni design. From the thick, heavy window beside the prothean, maglev lines cut through the glittering ice cavern that cradled the underground city. A nice vista, the company had thought, and so had repurposed the mostly intact lecture chamber to a communal lab space for the Quana site EX-427.

Gold eyes flickered up from the worn, red book in his hands at her approach, the periphery pair moving only a fraction. He did not smile or hail her, but Liara thought that the tension under his eyes faded, just a little.

“Good reading?” Flicking out the tail of her coat, Liara perched on the bench beside him. “I’d have thought you’d have The Mahabharata memorised by now.”

She was not sure where exactly Javik had picked up the copy of the ancient Earth saga, but he’d carried it for a long while. Liara had only glanced over the text herself, if only to gain some understanding for the prothean’s attachment to it.

Though she’d not asked, Liara had suspected the warring ideals of duty and passion, and examination of a ‘just war’ intrigued him. Helped explain the contradictory attitude the current cycle held towards conquest and war. As to the measure of its usefulness, well, Liara was not sure.

“Despite the primitive format, it is easier to discern deeper meaning by revisiting the text,” Javik sighed, puffing out his cheeks as his gestured to the discarded data-pad beside him. “I glean more from this physical medium than its digital form.”

Her brows raised at that observation, even as Liara thought it through. Supposedly, his empathetic senses would allow him to read the experiences and impressions of previous readers. Not so for text on a data-pad; their technology was simply not built for such functions.

Nodding, Liara straightened the line of her trousers. The back of her neck prickled, and she looked up to meet Javik’s contemplative gaze. She smiled.

“Are you still having difficulty with Swimming Down the Deepest Well?”

A familiar scowl creased his expression, and Javik’s lip curled in disgust. The old salarian chronical was a part of the required reading for one of the elected courses he’d decided to continue to study. ‘Accounts of our Ancestors; Intergalactic Classics and Modern Politics’ and ‘Great Betrayers in Search of Knowledge’ were not areas of study she’d expected of him. Javik consulted her sparingly for his study, preferring to trawl through the ancient sagas and epics that were so formative to the council races at his own pace. 

This too, Liara thought, was an attempt to discern the inner workings of this cycle. To track the evolution of galactic democracy through the ideas that built the beginnings of society.

“Well, you’re in luck,” she told him, turning her glance arch and graceful. “I have it on good authority that one Arik Koku, in addition to being a talented metamorphic petrologist, is also fluent in the old Narra dialect in which it was originally composed in. He’s agreed to give you lessons, while we’re here.”

Javik blinked at her, head tilted and eyes shuttered in a manner that indicated a pause. Not quite surprise, not just acknowledgement. She found herself watching which way his mouth would curl.

Her perception of him had been more pronounced since Eletania.

“You expect me to learn the entirety of a dead language in the short time we have here?” Javik asked at last, more incredulous than hostile.

“I’m sure you’ll pick it up,” she sniffed. “Prothean superiority and all that.”

“And if I simply absorb the language from this salarian?” 

Heat flushed to Liara’s cheeks and she shrugged. The angle of his inquiry was not hard to decipher. Some part of her wondered that she hadn’t considered that Javik would want to learn the language by the means most natural to him. 

How careless and close minded of her.

“That would be something you would have to negotiate with Arik Koku.” She picked at her trousers again, feeling the weight of his contemplation. Her brow twitched.

“You would not object?” Javik pressed.

“My objection was on my own account.” Liara shook her head, pretending to study the cluster of scientists constructing a digital model of a mine shaft. A trickle in her throat made her words dry. “What others decide to impart to you and how is their business.”

A huff sounded from him, and Liara slid her gaze sideways.

“I forget,” Javik drawled in bemused frustration, “how much precedence you place on individuality.” 

She cocked her head and frowned openly. The red book was closed now, but still held tenderly on his lap.

“Did you read my refusal as a universal opinion?” Liara licked her teeth. “As opposed to a personal choice?” 

The colour around his eyes darkened. Liara tucked her fingers under her legs at his answering pause. Had she come across as so severe and stern when Javik had asked to absorb her knowledge of composing a systematic discourse?

What then? His reaction was almost flustered, as if he had held off acquiring knowledge and skills through his empathetic touch since in deference to her opinion. Or, perhaps he had read it as instruction? From his extended, almost baffled silence, she had to think that was the case.

Liara did not know how that made her feel.

“I-” She began, still unsure at the odd jumping of her heart.

Javik scowled and looked away, angling to stare out the window to the dark, shimmering cavern of the ancient prothean city. The line of his jaw was stark in this light, ringed red banding bright along his throat. 

Her own breath hitched, and Liara’s knuckles tightened reflexively.

“There would be no end of people who would be eager to touch minds with you.” Liara’s voice felt strained, even to her. She would not think why. “Many would jump at the chance.”

“But not you.” The statement was flat and almost unfeeling. The gold of his reflection stuttered with a blink.

“There is value in learning a skill in your own right,” she stated primly, and then winced. That was not the only objection Liara had folded into her own heart that day. 

Pressing her hands further beneath her legs, Liara ducked her head. Azure coloured her crest dark with embarrassment.

And yet, there were fingertips at her elbow, with the faintest hint of inquiry. Almost gentle in its hesitance, and she answered back with warmth and assurance. Liara felt the press of him, and looked back to find that Javik had scooted closer. 

“If you wish to absorb the Narra dialect from Koku, I do not object so long as he does not,” assured Liara verbally, realising at once that was what he’d been asking.

The white of his teeth flashed, and the pressure at her elbow remained.

“Do you not fear to lose your exclusive source on prothean culture?” Javik mused brazenly at her shoulder. “What if I decided I preferred this Arik Koku over yourself?”

Liara snorted, snaking a hand up to flick at his leering face. All four eyes crossed to a single point most marvellously. The shift between them became comfortable.

“Then I would wonder if you weren’t trying to steal his liver,” she replied. “Which is considered terribly rude in this cycle.”

“You spoil all my fun.”

She laughed.

.

.

 **83.**

“Well, I suppose our luck was bound to run out at some point,” Liara hissed through her teeth as bullets pinged off the ancient computer station they crouched behind. 

“Luck has no relevance to this situation,” Javik snapped, popping over the desk to return fire to the mottled band of miscreants that hounded them. “We need a more defensible position.”

Aside from the wide windows [met the vertigo of the crèche], the only way out of the small operation centre was the door they had entered through. The only other [cursed] entrance had caved in an age ago.

“I know, just-“

There was barely enough room [chin pressed to his chest to keep low] behind the station to shield of them.

A [batarian, male, dying] gurgle of pain satisfied his ire [momentarily], and Javik turned to where the asari darted her [frantic] hands over her info-drone. She was so close, her sweat and stress salted the air. Parts of the drone’s electric blue interface [whirring and whimpering] had torn edges, and it’s core light flickered unsteadily. Whilst Glyph’s nominal kinetic shields had protected it from complete annihilation [first volley swift and true], it was in no way suited to combat [would not survive untended]. 

He would [should] have told Liara to abandon it [data uploaded and backed up many times over], had he not known doing so would waste his breath. She had a peculiar attachment [assigning sentience] to the drone.

Grumbling under his breath, Javik tugged a lift-grenade [three left] out from its slot in his armour [careful to keep his elbows within cover] and listened for a break in the firing. It came, and with little preamble he peered around the [battered and bullet ridden] work station and lobbed the grenade to the point where their assailants were most densely assembled. 

His aim was true, and two batarians screeched as they were dragged into the air by the lift-grenade’s [sharp, loud] explosion. Javik’s teeth showed sharp as he picked them off [the whir and cut keeping] with his Particle Rifle.

“Doctor!” Javik warned, ducking his head as another fire-team replaced their fallen fellows.

“Yes, I’m almost there,” Liara said sharply [yellow and violet staining her scent]. Glyph’s light strengthened, and piped up his usual [inane] greeting. She sat back on her heels and [at last] readied her SMG. “No cover to another exit, I take it?”

“Liara T’Soni,” the info-drone alerted [redundantly]. “Mercenary pack ‘Minotaur’ has converged on your location.”

Javik wanted to shoot it.

“Scared now, are you?” A [rasping, ragged] voice taunted from beyond their sanctuary, followed by a battering rain of fire [eyes narrowed]. It would not be easy to endure this encounter, but they were not so ill prepared; Liara had suspected trouble on Feros [had been ambushed nonetheless].

Javik smirked at the displeased twist of Liara’s lips. Shaking out his wrist [popped knuckles], he shifted in his crouch so as to better ready his biotics. The cocky turian who had mocked them was badly hidden by a pillar [would soon lose his arrogance].

“Just get me better cover whilst I relieve these scum from their pitiful existence,” Javik barked at Liara [grim and glittering].

Dragging his crooked hand up, green lightning danced up his arm as Dark Channel swarmed [twisting torrent] towards the [foolish] turian [peeking out from cover].

At the same moment, Liara shone biotic blue [hummed and sang against his senses] and reached out to [spark and smash] the long dead screens that hung from the ceiling. Their enemies flinched and faltered at the commotion. 

Glass flew out [a fall of fragments] and the frames were too frail, but the large overhang that attached them to the ceiling was bulky and broad [perfect]. 

Javik followed the chaos [hands firm, aim true], and fired down upon their startled foes. Liara [followed his rhythm] propped up onto her knees and curled her fingers like claws and pulled. Blue lines burst, and the overhang screeched [like a carrion bird] as it was dragged [collided] down mid-way through the room.

“Cover enough for you?” Liara gasped [sweat streaked her brow], but he’d already vaulted over the computer station. Her SMG burst alight with covering fire [fierce and stern] as Javik dashed to the newly settled overhang.

Spinning [shields pulsing] as he reached the block of ceramic and plaster, Javik whirled to the far side to divert their enemy’s fire.

Already, the large, dark orb of Liara’s Singularity had sprung above the mercenaries, trapping them in its pulsing wake. Shouts [stiff with panic] bounced off the control centre’s walls as Javik took aim and took out a batarian caught in its [dark moon] field.

[Later he would admire the synchronisation of their movements] [alignment of minds and motion] [later].

Breath hot [heaving], Javik drew back behind his impromptu cover to allow his weapon time to cool [hot and heavy in hand].

“There’s at least four more still in the hallway,” Javik told Liara through the comm-link [heard her sigh and mutter].

“Give me a minute and I’ll send a Warp on them,” Liara huffed, SMG firing in the comm static.

“They won’t come in far enough to allow that without reason,” he pointed out, leaning heavily against the overhang. Tilting his head, Javik listened for the tell-tale shuffles of movement. “If I lure them in-“

“Don’t be foolish,” snapped the asari [made him grin]. “We’ll just send Glyph as-“

Sharp footsteps, and the crashing wave of biotics cut her off [Liara yelped]. Javik [started] looked back for her to see [in horror] a turian cabal bearing down on her [omni-knife and biotics on hand]. Glyph protested indignantly.

[Too close] [too embroiled to risk the shot]-

The rest of the mercenaries followed, and [mouth dry], Javik bore up his rifle to halt their charge [beat back the storm] [could not help her]. The remaining scum [one batarian, two turians] scrambled back to avoid his barrage. One turian shimmered as she engaged her tactical cloak [the edges of her still visible to him].

Their formation momentarily broken, Javik sheathed his Particle Rifle with one hand and drew out the M-77 Paladin with the other. Behind him, Liara still grappled with the cabal [not his fight] [trust her] [don’t die].

So, Javik roared his challenge and abandoned all caution to charge after those he could kill. Crashing into the lagging turian, he wrapped an iron arm around the Minotaur’s throat to bare his body [catch enemy fire] as a shield. Ignoring the screeching scut [rank yellow fear], Javik shoved him forward; unflinching as the batarian sent two wild shots [to cover his retreat] behind another [broken] work counter. 

[Cursed to remember Liara fought behind him] [her hiss] [the violet sounds of a struggle]. 

Turian talons scrabbled [uselessly] at his forearm, and relentless, Javik pushed onward. Throwing the [now redundant] meat-shield to the ground, he snapped out a kick [out and down] to the back of his head [satisfied crunch] [snapped fringe] [twitching fingers] before vaulting over the counter.

Javik crashed into the snarling [waiting] batarian enforcer, knee up to crush his [sunken] chest and the butt of the Paladin cracking down on [triangular] nasal ridges. They both fell heavily to the floor [keep on top] [in control], and Javik dug his fingers into the batarian’s left [jelly soft] eyes, before firing a single shot when his head arched back [in agony] and bared his throat.

Blood burst, coating Javik’s face and hands. A wild screech cut through the air [gunfire] as white hot pain erupted from his left scapular [six sluggish rounds] [two had landed true].

Roaring, Javik twisted back to face the remaining [enraged and erring] turian, tactical cloak fading as she lurched toward him [hands fumbling to reload] [Carnifex]. There was no time; pistol on the wrong side of his body and oh, the pain.

Teeth bared, Javik called biotics about his fist [don’t think about the fire in each movement]; a desperate attempt to forestall death. Would that he had a second more to make it. 

[Sorry].

Blue blood exploded from the charging turian; sudden and startling in its immediacy [the chatter of SMG fire echoed]. The infiltrator crumpled, head little more than a messy pulp [acrid tang soaked the air].

Panting, Javik staggered to his feet. The broken form before him seemed unreal in its abrupt ending. Death had not caught him that day.

[A blessing?] [he was not certain].

A tired huff came from his saviour, and Javik turned his head to blink at the battered asari. There, in the centre of the [mangled, black blasted] operation centre, Liara [ice blue fury shone] stood in her white armour [pale pillar in the gloom]. One hand clutching her side [pain seeped there], the asari shook her head and lowered her outstretched arm. 

His chest heaved and blood roared. Smelt the startled scent of her life [an affirmation] despite the wounds. Her lips thinned as Liara met his eyes.

So, they had survived.

.

.

**84.**

They had left the dead where they lay, bar a few valuables and incriminating items and limped warily back to the camp they had made that morning. Tucked into one of the small, hexagonal alcoves that lined the walls of this impossible tall tower, it had evidently been missed by the mercenary gang that had attacked them. A blessing, for all that Minotaur’s tracks passed not five metres from it.

But, Liara pondered, not terribly surprising. The Feros mega-structure’s levels were dispersed few and far between, and the mercenaries had made a beeline to Javik and her location. She still did not know what the compact hexagonal pods were used for, never mind how the majority were reached, stacked up as they were.

A guttural start from the prothean before her brought Liara back to the present. Javik stoically sat as she silently removed the sliced bevor and right pauldron of his combat armour. The numbing agents in Medi-gel apparently had their limits.

The turian cabal who had biotically charged Liara had come very close to besting her. Only by virtue of the grappling throws Aanja had drilled into her Chaahu had Liara managed to avoid being gutted like a fish. A long searing slice against her ribs attested to that. 

Javik had been less lucky. 

“I struggle to envision how you ever survived your solo expeditions,” Javik’s low voice murmured, and Liara bit her lip. Each piece of armour she removed was set carefully down on the ground beside them. Black burns from the warp-ammo bit right through the ceramic in places. “Your medical skills leave much to be desired.”

“Excuse you,” Liara sniffed, keeping her voice cool. Her own hard-suit suffered the gouges of the cabal’s sizzling omni-blade, but nothing like this. “I was not the one charging three opponents like a mad thing.”

He grunted, more so from pain than objection; she saw it in the tense hitch of his body. Liara’s blue hands seemed very frail against the bullet holes marring his red cuirass.

“S-sorry,” she mumbled, ignoring the heat in her eyes. 

There were layers and layers to Javik’s unique battle armour, and it took time to remove it all; the plating, skin-weave, kinetic barrier generator and the prothean computer plates lay thick over his upper torso. The back of his head remained still as Liara untangled each piece with as much care as possible. Fried tech and blood coated everything and clogged her nose. 

Liara winced at another hiss of pain from Javik, and tried not to think of how Minotaur had found their location so easily. At least the alerts on the camp had given them some warning.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, eyes scrunched up as Javik slapped at the clasps that held and slotted the breastplate and backpack of his armour together. At once, she was able to pull the sputtering generator off his back.

“For what?” His voice sounded sharp in dusty quiet of the prothean ruin. That emptiness had never bothered her before.

“You asked me to give my all to this venture,” Liara explained quietly, fingertips pale where they pressed against his ruined armour. “Now it’s but a mask to hide me from assassins. I’ve failed you again.”

He paused at that; Liara felt the slow push of his presence still with uncertainty. The mercenary’s corpses had not been terribly enlightening, but they had enough new armour and weapons to speak of a recent benefactor. She had not yet had time to hack their communications, but Liara suspected she would find an elusive trail that abruptly ended in nothing.

His back was bare now, to her. Her neck and crest prickled at Javik’s proximity, at the trust placed in her near trembling hands. Swallowing with difficulty, Liara blinked rapidly at the hot weight of regret and shame that hovered beneath her thoughts. 

The skin-weave of Javik’s under-suit was thick and firm to touch, splattered dark with prothean blood as she peeled it off him. 

Taut muscle bunched under chitin plating, and even thusly marred Liara could not help but marvel at the sight of him. Each weave and weft of plating bound down Javik’s broad back before merging seamlessly into softer skin. The buzz of his presence hummed under her palms, a stone smooth texture like obsidian larva. 

Two deep holes oozed thick blood from Javik’s left shoulder; likely that his chitin armour had saved him from a more serious injury.

“Do you still intend to inspect this site as thoroughly as able?” Javik’s tone was clipped as Liara began cleaning and inspecting his wounds. 

A muscle in her jaw clenched tightly.

“Once we establish it’s still safe to do so,” Liara managed, one hand held gently under his shoulder-blade. “I need to pull those bullets out.”

Javik simply nodded at her grim news. An oily roll in her belly shifted as Liara retrieved the medical tweezers from the kit. Eying the thin river of blood that ran down his back, she collected more gauze as well. 

Pressing her hand against his chitin, Liara looked over the slope of his shoulder to the partial line of his face. The creases under Javik’s eyes were tight.

“Ready?”

A curt grunt was her answer, and Liara began the grisly task of digging tweezers into his sundered plate to grasp the melted bullets left within.

“Then there is no need for your regret,” Javik bit out suddenly. Tweezers half a centimetre inside him, Liara faltered as she picked up the thread of his conversation. 

Tears threatened her eyes at his simple assertion, and Liara blinked rapidly to hold them at bay. Perhaps it was the adrenaline crash, or the surprise of the attack, but her throat felt tight and torn by emotion. 

Today had been a close call; they both knew that. 

Liara worked on his shoulder in silence, generously ignoring his stuttered breathing when her grip on the bullet slipped or she pressed in too deep with her tools. The feel of Javik made her skin feel tight, but he made no request for mental succour. Held his hurt in close, and she did not need the distraction it would bring.

Wiping at her cheeks with the back of a hand, Liara returned to the extraction. She hissed in satisfaction as the first bullet head was drawn from his flesh. It pinged against the small tray of the med-kit. 

“Have you concluded the purpose for this facility’s structure?” Javik asked abruptly. The corner of her mouth twitched as she applied a dollop of anti-bac against the first wound. 

With a wipe, Liara cleaned the end of the tweezers in preparation for the second bullet. 

Almost unwillingly, she traced the regimental hexagon pods that lined the walls of this vast complex with her eyes.

“Storage, of some kind, was my first thought,” Liara mused. They’d only had a little time to excavate what data they could from the operation centre. “But there are so many power lines and data feeds running from each pod, I rather think it more like a hospital. Any method they had of accessing them is long gone, and there is virtually no evidence of what type of structure it might have been.”

A dry chuckle followed her supposition.

“You are missing the obvious.” There was wry amusement in Javik’s tone, followed by a wince as she began again.

“Am I?” If teasing her helped Javik with the pain, she’d endure it good naturedly. This second bullet was more deeply embedded, and the welling blood made it slippery to the tweezer’s teeth.

“Did you never observe that the Collectors,” Javik said through gritted teeth, “butchered abominations that they were, possessed wings?”

His hands flexed and clenched on his knees. Liara was so focused on her ministrations, her teeth bit her bottom lip so hard her tongue tasted tang. Only then did his words catch up to her.

“No,” she exclaimed after a beat.

“Yes.”

“You don’t have wings!”

Her grip on the bullet slipped in her shock, and Javik let out a yelp at the error. Liara mumbled apologies and dabbed at the wound with gauze, even as excitement thrummed up her body.

“All protheans were born with wings,” huffed Javik, sounding tired and torn even as the crook of his mouth lifted with teasing. “Doctor Barré wrote on this.”

“I was waiting to read the published version,” Liara returned weakly, thoughts and theories in a tumble. “So when-“

“They are lost soon after infancy,” he continued, smug in startling her. Under her palm, his breath was strong and sure. “Prothean females regrow them come puberty. A way to safely sequester newborns for growing.”

Eyes wide, Liara tracked the lines of his back, noting the pronounced shapes of his trapezius, infraspinatus and upper latissimus dorsi muscles. The bulk of his upper body had always impressed her, and Liara’s hand skirted the hardened remnants of joints and extensions.

“Oh Javik, you’re beautiful!”

A shiver ran through him, and Liara cursed her wonder; there was a bullet still embedded in his shoulder and she’d become distracted. There was no excuse, no matter how diverting she found Javik’s torso to be.

Goddess, she hoped he hadn’t read that through her hands. She scrubbed them against her thigh.

“I thought you were no expert in biology,” Javik coughed, and she was unsure if it was embarrassment or laughter that masked his tone. 

“Oh shut it.”

“This building was called a Ke Agbon,” Javik started again, voice only a little strained as she gripped the tweezers tight against his flesh. “A cradle for the newborn. The hearth-homes would be close by, but separate.”

“How were they tended to?” Liara’s voice was breathy. Finally she had found a good grip on the second bullet. “Did their mothers remain?”

As soon as the sentence was said, she pulled, and Javik cursed loudly as the projectile was pulled from his flesh.

Ignoring his stuttered exhale, Liara hurried to dab at the wound and treat it with anti-bac and medi-gel. The prothean said nothing as she cleaned and covered the wounds with a large adhesive bandage. With a fresh gauze, Liara cleaned away the remaining ichor from his back.

“There,” she told him. “How does it feel?”

“Fine,” Javik grumbled, wincing as he tried to roll his shoulder.

“Keep it still,” Liara chided as he turned to glare balefully. “Or I’ll insist on a sling.”

Sniffing, his gold eyes flickered away before they trailed down her body to rest on the clumsily applied bandaging over her ribs.

“Let me inspect that,” Javik demanded. “Turian cabals are notorious for adding poisonous nano-tech to their melee attacks.”

“Read up on them, have you?” Liara asked snidely, but she pulled the tattered remains of her tank-top away from the dressing. Tearing it away from the angry azure line with her free hand, Liara straightened and tried not to mind her naked vulnerability.

“Of course.” 

One of Javik’s hands lay over just under her ribs; a sure, steady presence at her belly despite the pain. And warm, so very warm and immediate. Liara cursed herself again.

Pressing at the wounds edges, he reapplied medi-gel with additional nano-tech to counter any lingering surprises the cabal had left her. Liara tried not to note how close that put him to her chest.

“The Agbei served females during their birthing.” Javik’s voice was mild. The seeping cold of the nano-tech made her breath hitch. “Some dams remained after to help tend their offspring. Some did not.”

“And the fathers?” She steadily looked over his shoulder at the looming pods that framed them.

“Prothean males were notified if they sired young,” he continued, hands sure as he pressed an adhesive bandage along the wound. “There was no expectation of involvement.”

“How sad,” Liara said quietly, earnestly and without thinking.

Javik sat back on his haunches, but his presence was still so immediate she felt the movement against her bared skin. Like a guardian statue, he stared solemn with thinned lips.

“There was no time,” came the simple reply, and really those four words told too much of what it had been like 50,000 years ago.

She thought of Aethyta, and the long years of her childhood when Liara had accepted her mother’s cool insistence that she not dwell upon her identity. Implied that her father was dead, if Liara was being honest. And Liara had accepted it; it was a rare asari indeed who had a singular, constant father figure.

How much had prothean culture been warped by an endless war? It coloured every immediate, harsh judgement, every utilitarian design of Javik’s thought.

And here they were, sitting quietly in an ancient maternity ward patching up each other’s wounds as if on campaign. His life, and hers, was so full of contradictions. Even now.

Looking up at his stern expression, Liara sought the pull of muscles under his eyes, the dip of his lips. Bitterness still clung to Javik, perhaps it always would. Yet, he was looking at her now, and for once it seemed that the veil of grief and time did not hang between them. All four eyes felt bright and brilliant. They had been still too long. Her fingers itched to reach out and touch his cheek. 

A dangerous, regrettable line of thought. Breathing deep, Liara winced at the pull of pain along her ribs, tugging her tattered top gingerly back down over the bandage.

“We should carry on,” Liara said brusquely. “Find another place in this building to set up camp. I’m not leaving until I have another crack at downloading those drives from the control centre.”

A laugh escaped from him, amused and approving. Javik rose from his crouch, and carefully rolled his shoulders.

If his hands clenched and unclenched, and a flash of indiscernible doubt filtered his gaze, Liara pretended not to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh just going to post this up before I lose my mind over it. I was worried there were too many things going on in this chapter, but that's probably because I've been working on it for so long. 
> 
> Liara's hesitance to let Javik draw knowledge from her lies in the difference between their melding. Asari melds are a bit all or nothing, though she can keep a handle on the small scale feeling exchange that they do. Her main concern is that he'd pull too much from her and feel burdened by her feelings from him. Sorry if it was a little unclear!
> 
> Also, this chapter is massive. Like, 10,000 words long massive. I'm baffled. Holy hell. Well, hopefully it was worth the wait :P
> 
>  
> 
> Glossary
> 
> Atamna: Athame high priestesses  
> Agbei: Prothean midwives.  
> Arthana: Thessia’s capital city. Where the Temple of Athme was located.  
> Chahhu: Asari biotic dance routine.  
> Fyaer: Thessian thorned flower.  
> Kamada: Prothean word for the imperial court.  
> Ke Agbon: Prothean birthing centres.  
> Maalume: Prothean overseers/moral managers.  
> Marbar Ya: Prothean word for the carers of young.  
> Shihiid: Martyr  
> Soaxiib: Prothean word for comrade, typically referring to experienced, familiar military teams.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you think to faint again,” he began, bluffing with blunt doubt, “do forewarn me.”
> 
> “I did not faint,” Liara exclaimed, snapping straight with indignation.
> 
> “Swoon, then. As you like,” Javik sniffed. His grip did not loosen from her forearms.

.

.

 **85.**

Stuffy heat swam thick [pressed down on every pore] in the ruined space wreckage; environmental controls were clearly damaged during the initial assault on this smuggler’s den. Scuff marks and dark stains marked the action, but Javik kept his rifle ready nonetheless. 

Two paces ahead [footsteps crisp and loud against grate], Liara held her pistol [loose but limber], armour a dark maroon and grey against Spectre Williams’ Alliance blue.

If the human held caution in her belly [ran across the lines of her arms] at Liara’s accrued reputation, he could not blame her. Long years had passed since their days on the Normandy; the galaxy had shifted from what it was. 

Yet despite the initial stiltedness, Liara and Ashley had fallen back into old patterns and formations. No mention was made for the space [still] left for the Commander. Ever did she continue to lead them [could almost hear her footsteps ahead]. 

Javik cricked his neck; he’d become accustomed to advancing as a pair. 

The steel in Ashley Williams had not softened [stern cut to her jaw], and the handshake she’d offered him had been strong and sound. 

“I appreciate you coming here,” the Spectre said, a short flicker of her [curious] gaze back to him. “I hear you’ve been…busy.” 

“It’s no trouble,” Liara insisted [not for the first time]. “We were passing through.”

Indeed, with only three planets and riddled with asteroid belts, Farinata was only useful as a waypoint to other systems. Their destination was Therum, until a [too] careful suggestion from Feron had hinted at and old friend finding something of interest just out of the planet Juntauma.

“Yes, it does so cheer me to wade through the scum and villainy that plagues this cycle,” Javik drawled. “Libertarianism has surely proven its worth.”

It was partly to rile Liara [regain their old evenness after the mess on Feros] [some semblance of distance], but Javik also watched the Spectre to see how the years [since the war] had carved her.

There were lines around Ashley’s eyes and brow, and they rose in bored aloofness [a commander] [a leader] [used to the jibes of subordinates]. Liara [for her part] shot him a [half-hearted] scowl over her shoulder [knew what he was up to]. The human rolled her armoured shoulders and tipped her chin.

Or perhaps [he conceded] Javik was simply testy from the suffocating atmosphere.

“A regular ray of sunshine, as always,” Williams answered, directing her [commiserating] words toward the bristling asari.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Liara huffed, pointy nose scrunched tight. “Asari snobbery has nothing on Javik.”

A sharp [warm] bark of laughter came from the human, starting both Liara and him. Javik [nostrils flared] feigned more indignation than was true, for he’d recognised the bottled burst of Ashley’s tone. A crack in a dam of deep thought and stoicism [like drinking after drought]. Liara laid a hand on her friend’s elbow and dropped back a step to elbow his side.

Spectre Williams and her Alliance soldiers had done a thorough job of clearing out the small station; their efficiency lapped [taut, tight, trim] through the air. Small minded scum like the smugglers they’d routed were often sly enough to hoard away rare trinkets stolen from less prudent handlers. Javik did not expect any great wonder behind William’s flat eyed caution [wary of what she did not comprehend]. Still [worst case], it could also be salvaged Reaper tech [cold traced up his spine]. 

The human Spectre nodded at the [human] soldiers guarding the cramped corridor, gesturing for Liara to take the lead.

“Back here.” The corridor opened out and down into a [hellishly hot] pit of a room. Williams stood, hip cocked as she watched [gauged] their reaction. “My men thought it was repurposed Collector tech at first.”

“I don’t blame them,” murmured Liara, as Javik leant forward to taste the acrid air. 

Six cylindrical vats framed the humid room [cross designed], lit by red and green lights that winked in their own, private pattern. Various pipes stretched out in [thick] coils to hang haphazardly from [and disappear into] the ceiling. An amaroidal stench leaked from worn and ill-fitted seals [by time and incompetence], seeping copper down slick vat walls to slink about their ankles. 

Javik sneered at the mess of it.

It was prothean in design. Or, at least, it had once been [no clear competence remained in function]. Some enterprising criminal had found the means to retrofit a waste-recycle system for another, less dignified purpose.

“I suggest you vacate the room,” he hissed, taking a [sudden, chicanery] step back. 

“Why? What’s in them?” The Spectre’s tone was [razor] sharp.

“Your intrepid smugglers have used this to store plutonium.”

Ashley cursed viciously and colourfully, a hand already reaching for her comm-link [panic tight in her actions]. A flare of fear and puzzlement curled from Liara. 

“Why didn’t the scanners pick up on this?” The Spectre snapped.

Both reactions satisfied him, even as Javik made to follow them out. Already, Williams was ushering [sharp eyed] Liara and her men back and away from the death trap they’d [supposedly] stumbled into. 

A haunted fear prickled at the edges of William’s countenance [regret and apology], breaking only when the asari caught her arm.

“A moment,” Liara asked, a fleet smile gracing her face. “I believe you’ll find my partner has exaggerated some of the details.”

Javik watched [intent] as Ashley froze at that, meeting Liara’s cool assurance with a frank and intense stare. Brows furrowed, the human hesitated [hand outstretched to drag the asari away] as Javik stood straight and did his best to appear regal and disaffected. Liara squeezed her arm, before directing her own [biting] attention over to him.

A dark flicker lay behind her eyes [curled deep in his belly], and Liara tilted her head in expectant exasperation.

Snorting, Javik broke her gaze and sauntered over to the [copper ripe] vats. With a knuckle he tapped at the smooth [slimy, empty echo] surface, glancing back over his shoulder to jeer at his [wary] audience. 

“Plutonium–238 cylinders,” Javik sneered by way of explanation. A rather impressive scowl had slip on to William’s features. Liara’s was far more reserved, mouth crooked [exasperation and amusement]. “I suppose they concluded that the recycling generators were fit enough for storage. Interesting, but the tech has been thoroughly ruined.” 

“Your sense of humour,” Ashley snapped [violet and green knives cut through her scent], “is unnecessary and unwanted.”

He allowed the edges of his teeth to show. Liara rolled her eyes. 

“Simply keeping you on your toes, human.” 

Spectre Williams was not, after all, his commanding officer; Javik felt no guilt in tricking her so [still a favoured pastime].

“I can’t take you anywhere,” Liara murmured to him later [eyes slid to corners].

The humans were preoccupied with extracting the plutonium cylinders from their make-shift storage. Flecks of cross embarrassment still flitted over Williams [red disapproval from her subordinates] [good].

“How did you know I was lying?” Javik studied the curve of her cheek, the amused twist of her mouth [inspired by his query].

“If there had been a real danger,” Liara said, slow and languorous with each [pleased] word, “you would have dragged me out in an instant.”

A strangled [aborted] sound bent out of shape in his throat, and Javik span all four eyes to the knowing [calm as clear water] expression Liara now wore.

To dignify that with a response would confirm the [ridiculous] presumption.

Javik swallowed [whatever he could say?] and chose silence.

.

.

 **86.**

She was not sure how exactly her evening ended at an out-station bar trading drinks with the Spectre. Or rather, Liara was not sure how she’d managed to slip out without Javik hovering on her trail. 

Selfish, yes, but Liara was tired of skulking in shadows, and with Ashley Williams as the evening’s companion, she was as safe as roses.

Normalcy, even if it was only for a night. 

The bar Ashley had steered them towards was dimly lit and quiet. Human owned and favoured, and boasting a number of large and tattered billiard tables. A few off-duty deckhands glanced their way in idle interest; Ashley shrugged off their attention like water as she ordered drinks and set up the table. 

As games went, billiards was new to Liara. Distinctively human in its entropy. She suspected her friend quite enjoyed being able to instruct her. Ashley had always been a little thrown by the long asari life-span, but she looked comfortable breaking the triangle.

It soon became apparent that Liara’s game was not so effortless.

“You are enjoying this,” Liara observed glumly, trying not to look too disheartened as yet another of her shots misfired spectacularly. 

“Maybe a little,” Ashley admitted, downing another swig from her whiskey before taking aim.

Liara was only a little envious as her friend’s white ball pinged around table, sinking two. 

“Do you still believe?”

The question came like the clap of a midnight bell; Liara broke away from setting up her cue, head cocked to ensure that she’d heard the Spectre correctly.

“Believe?”

“In your Goddess.” Ashley tapped a forefinger on the edge of her glass. “I barely believed it when you were taken into custody. By your church?”

Ah. They had not spoken a lot since the war ended, bar some sporadic emails exchanging news, wry observations and the occasional poem. Liara had not the passion of her human friend for literature, but her education had been extensive enough that she could hold her own opinion on the subject.

Nothing but the best for Benezia’s daughter, but that was not the point. 

Out of all of Shepard’s crew, Ashley Williams had best understood the ecclesiastical heartbreak that had lain under the weight of losing Thessia. What it meant to have a crisis of faith.

To be condemned now, by those who claimed to serve the once blessed Athame. 

“It was something of a scandal,” Liara said simply, knuckles faintly pale where she held her cue. It still hurt her, to be so disappointed by the order her mother had dedicated her life to. Setting her jaw, Liara lined up a shot and struck.

Ashley’s grey eyes were dark in the dim light.

“I remember. Had Shepard in fits.” She leaned a hip against the table. “You’ve avoiding my question.”

Liara sighed and knocked back her own drink. Watched the failed result of her turn.

“What would you have me say?” And the tone came out more bitter than anticipated. “Javik was right; his people have shaped the history of my own so thoroughly it is all but impossible to untangle. If she ever was, how could the truth of Athame ever found?”

The beginnings of an uncomfortable lump began to take shape in Liara’s throat. Ashley shook her head, a hank of dark hair spilling from her crisp bun. 

“So she was just a prothean then?” Ashley asked. “Mixed up with some heroic figures through myth and time?”

It was not meant unkindly; the former Gunnery Chief had never shied away from tough questions. Liara leant her head back to smile sharply at her friend.

“And how would you explain your God?” 

Ashley snorted loudly, and took to the table.

“He’s no prothean,” answered the Spectre, a ring of defiance hitching her voice.

“And how would you know?” Liara set her cue aside and folded her arms. Paused to consider how best to describe her belief. “The Goddess. Athame. My mother always spoke of her as a consciousness. A conceptualisation of the universe for mortal minds.” 

“That almost sounded poetic,” teased Ashley, glancing up from the game. Liara waved the comment away with a distracted hand.

She thought of Benezia, rolling out ancient painted scripture to show her curious daughter. Eyes fathomless as she described the canticles of the stars and systems and how all was one, and one was all.

Thought of her mother’s crumpled form against the rachni tank, dark blood dribbling down her chin.

_“Good night, Little Wing. I will see you again with the dawn.”_

But Benezia had been herself, at the end. Liara had thanked the Goddess for that, through her initial grief.

“Whatever it is,” she continued, softer now than before. “I do not think the universe entirely unfeeling.”

A loud tap clunked against the floor, and Liara looked up. Cue propped straight like a holy staff, Ashley Williams studied her from across the game table. The lines around her eyes crinkled.

“Tsk.”

“What is it?” Liara queried, almost wary. Ashley laughed.

“For all our differences, alien races sure do share a lot of interesting ideas.” The human rolled her cue between her fingertips, teeth bare. “We all seem desperate for some underlying meaning to how the worlds work out.”

“So it seems,” she conceded, and attempted to sink another ball. 

“I doubted, during the war,” Ashley continued, far more quiet than before. “I guess synthetic cosmic horrors will do that. It was so hard to see what possible grace could come from so much suffering.”

Liara considered the human, the loose yet heavy set to her shoulders. Considered for the first time what battle Spectre Williams was still fighting in her own heart, even after all these years. 

“I remember thinking,” she began her own faltering admission, “that I could not let it end in the Reapers dominion. Even if such a victory was a small hope flung far into the future. We would have played our part in it. And Shepard…”

“Is an act of God unto herself.” They shared cracked grins at that truth. 

The conversation eased at that, and they both let heavier thoughts fall away. Ashley proceeded to serenely and smoothly annihilate what little chance Liara had ever had at winning the game. She did not overly mind, and obligingly bought the next round as a prize. 

By the time they left the bar, both stumbled a little, and Ashley had one arm slung over Liara’s shoulders. A warm and heavy weight, and she tried and failed to not lean into the contact. Ashley’s strange, human hair wafted a soapy, floral scent to Liara as her friend huffed and leant close.

“Ah,” Ashley said from their spot on the front step of the building. Over the muted skyline of the out-station stretched the universe, vast in all its endless glory. “Once more unto the breech, dear friends.”

The corner of Liara’s mouth quirked up, and she nodded once in solidarity.

The stars, beyond that tired out-station, seemed bright.

.

.

 **87.**

He was not sure how [exactly, precisely] to feel about their approach to Therum. 

Pacing the observation lounge of the [compact] transport liner they’d booked passage on, Javik sifted through half formed memories [relics of an older time] of a planet now defined [marred] by crass industry. At the game table, two humans [older and well-worn] [anxious at the approaching planet] casually contested one another at a [basic] holo-game. They ignored him, for all their eyes occasionally flickered his way [usual and harmless curiosity]. 

It [Gre…Gver…Grva…?] [the name was lost] had been an industrial world in his cycle [he was sure], but not so ugly as the current design. Ribbons of heavy tankers [flashing bright with colour and communication] had supplied the [glorious] Empire with the rich ore hidden in the planet’s mountains. Once, when young [still green and tender from casing], he’d been assigned here, though the particulars were lost in the hazard of Javik’s long slumber.

The curve of red rock and grey was only passing familiar, and the prothean tightened his eyes at his incomplete [inadequate] mind. Tucked beside his chest, the Echo Shard pulsed [a third heartbeat] with its knowledge. His knowledge [their legacy], and if Javik wished, he could dip into that ocean and be anointed again with all the glory of his people.

A lost glory [had long waned into nothing]. Nothing now but [flickering] shadows against ruined walls. Echoes of nameless faces [he’d once honoured] and planets [he’d once protected] and songs [he’d once sung].

One touch, and he could have them all back again, if only for a moment.

But no, the Commander had advised against disturbing the dead [let sleeping ghosts lie]. He was grateful to her for that [heeded wisdom when given].

[Still].

 _'We are what we are, Javik'_. Shepard had been sure [marked and mature by all her suffering] [kinder for it]. He had told her once that war was their sculptor.

[You are a soldier].

Still, it vexed the prothean that he could not even recall what the planet had been called in his cycle.

Back in their small cabin, Liara sat and fretted [clouded her jaw and wrists] and made calculations. This too, was a crucible for her [she did not say, but felt]. A piece of her past before Commander Shepard had upended her small and focused world.

A small chuckle eased out from his throat at the thought; imagining Liara so young and wilful was a cheerful thing. No doubt she’d been twice as obnoxious about her supposed specialty [draped in youthful arrogance].

The floor jolted [sudden surprise], and the entire room dipped with a booming crash that sent Javik alert and alarmed from where he braced on the [erratic] floor.

_“Attention, all passengers, we are currently suffering from engine failure. Please do not panic and return to your cabins until-“_

Another vicious shudder rocked the ship, and Javik spat curses as he lurched for a handhold. Visibility dropped as the lights flickered and failed [gold lit the dark] [scanned the lounge]. The human couple cried out in flailing distress [distracting], and a raw line of fury cut through his [rigid] spine as fierce, hot air-fractures streaked outside the observation windows. 

“Liara,” he shouted through his comm-link [in the cabin] [no armour] [near the engines?]. Alarms began to blare.

“Javik!” Her [blessed] voice was static and sudden. “Where are you? There’s so much damage-“

Staggering to his feet, Javik ran to doorway [ignored the human cries] and wrenched it open. If the ship was failing [it was], he would have to get to her swiftly. Already crewmen and passengers [stank afraid and alarmed] raced through sparking and smoking halls. Strips of bright neon lined the corridors to the exits. 

_“Evacuate. This is not a drill. Please follow the lights towards the closest escape pods.”_

“Javik, where are you?” Liara demanded in his ear [shrill like a siren]. “Oh Goddess-“

“Deck Two, the lounge,” he bit out, knees buckling as the ship jerked again. “Get to the escape pods!”

[Let her have the sense to go].

A [ruddy] human crewman helped him up, face stained with soot and sweat. Javik took in his grim face [flush with sour-yellow fear], and calculated how dire the state the ship was in.

“Get your helmet on, Sir,” advised the human [voice scratchy and squeaking], patting Javik’s arm in rough [perfunctory] assurance. “The ship’s atmosphere has be compromised.” 

“Javik!”

He winced at the shriek in his auricular [damn her] and briskly shrugged off the human’s concern. Turning away, Javik engaged the helmet on his suit, feeling the plates shift and extend to shield his face. 

“I’m on my way,” assured Javik, trying not to think of the flimsy scientist coat Liara had donned for the trip. He charged forth [human forgotten]. “Liara, get a face-mask-“

“I know!” A small yelp sounded as something exploded on her end [focus narrowed to the rush of her breath]. “I’m here, how far away are you?”

“I’m-” Javik turned the corner, heard the hiss of a closing door and narrowed his gaze at the row of yellow hatches gone dim [empty of sanctuary]. Listened to the rumble of the last pod was blasted out into space [safety]. 

“There are no more escape pods on your level,” Liara said frantically. “Look-“

“Are you hacking the ship’s schematics?” Javik snarled [astounded]. “Look to yourself first!” 

“I’ll be fine,” she continued, ignoring his objection [was not the point]. “Get to Deck Three, there’s a maintenance shaft-“

“Liara-“

“Don’t argue!”

Javik seethed, charging past the last [dull] pod bay to the service access at the end of the hall. Stubborn asari should not waste time waiting for him [hearts thundering]; her soft shell could not endure against the pressure of open space so well as his [plated protection].

Skidding to a halt, he tore the wretched hatch open to peer down at the ladder [a long, leashed gloom]. Small sparks of light hazarded the way, but no major obstructions were apparent.

If there was a breach [she so easily cracked], she wouldn’t-

Javik cracked his knuckles and eased his way into the tight fit of the service tunnel.

Each rumble and protest of the shuddering ship bounced around the shaft, and Javik gritted his teeth. Gripped his hands on each rung and climbed down [down and further down] into darkness. His breath was hot and loud within his helmet, and he wondered [hoped] that Liara had found a face-mask. If it was the engines that had exploded, the lower decks would have sustained the most damage.

Pale light shifted at his feet [an opening], and he smelt the salt of her stress before Liara poked her head through the service hatch. The mask over her lower face glinted in poor reflection.

“There you are!”

Some tight chain in his chest eased to see her scowl. Javik clambered down the last few rungs before her hands grasped at his armour to tear him out of the tunnel. Snapping out his teeth [wrought relief], Javik brushed away her concern even as he surveyed her singed coat and dirt streaked face for damage [omni-tool still gleaming on her wrist].

In the middle of their mixed concern [where was she hurt?], fingers collided and bent to clutch tight [shudders rippled the ship]. Spiked vexation masked his relief [ignored hers].

“Why are you still here?” Eyes bright, he glared at the stubborn [defensive] pout already on Liara’s lips. Behind her, yellow light ringed a single remaining escape pod. There were blast marks on the walls, too small and clustered to be from any structural damage.

Liara scoffed [snarled] [violet and green streaks strong against her skin] as she turned and forcibly dragged him towards the sole pod.

“As if I would leave,” she snapped over her shoulder [eyes wet], “with you still stumbling about on board.”

Everything rumbled, like the waning roar of a dying beast, and Javik did not object to follow. The hatch slid closed behind them, and Javik blinked to find Liara thrust him back into a seat. With a bowed brow and wide [worried] hands, she began to strap him down. 

“Tend to yourself,” he hissed at her [ignored the tremor in her hands]. Already the pod was shifting and whirring with movement. “I am no child.”

Cold horror crossed Liara’s scent as another explosion sounded in the distance. The pod bucked, and she fell against him. Panic raced over her pale knuckles on the safety straps [pressed against his chest]. Their knees collided [painfully, for her], and Javik felt the stark terror shooting out from her heart [too much] [not enough]. Teeth sharp [eyes gleaming], Javik thrust her away [away, away sentiment].

She pulled back [mercifully] [wordlessly]. His bones ached from the pressure as Liara [finally] [shaking and stumbling from speed] finally moved to secure her own safety. The pod’s engines flared and pushed them out and away. Liara’s [unsteady] fingers fumbled at a buckle.

[Hurry].

Everything [sight sound scent] roared and went silent.

.

.

**88.**

Blue swam before her vision, and Liara awoke to the strangest sense that she was falling.

Absurd, she told herself, before a wrenching ache made itself known in her shoulders. White stars burned her eyes, followed by a long, buzzing noise at her temples. Ozone and burnt metal burst hot in her nose and mouth.

Therum. They had been headed to Therum. And there had been fire and explosions and terror clawing at her throat and lungs, blood screaming ‘ _not again_ ’. 

Liara choked, and struggled in panicked urgency, lurching in the freefall only to discover biting pain over her chest and hips. It did not make sense. Her arms keep dropping over her head.

Somewhere about her came a loud crash, and a groan. 

“Javik-“ She managed to bite out, but her voice was thick and strained from dizziness. Bile slid through her throat; not down but out. Clawing at the air, Liara tried to bend, to turn, to escape from whatever improbable force held her.

Still, her eyes were clouded and her comm was silent, and she could not see Javik.

By the Goddess, she would not endure another forced imprisonment whilst her love suffocated alone in deep space. Biotics bubbled under her skin; weak and sputtering, but she would make them work.

Where was he?

“Calm down, Liara.” His voice was gruff and unbalanced, but it stilled her all the same. “You’re making a scene.”

Again she twisted her body, trying to find the source of that bemused scolding. Swiping her eyes with the back of her hand, Liara faltered to feel the face-mask broken but still strapped to her face. Where was he?

A hazy shape of red, turquoise and grey moved to her line of sight. Strange, and her frazzled mind was slow to put it together. Blinking back tears, she felt Javik’s sure hands clasp her shoulders.

“You’re alright?” Was all she managed to rasp.

But…it was wrong. He was above her and the wrong way and she was looking down at his bright, gold eyes.

The pressure at her skull grew.

“Stop squirming,” Javik chided, guiding her fluttering hands to his solid chest. Brushed out with ease, for all it was lost on her. “I’m going release the harness now.”

“What?”

But one hand was at her back, the other reaching up to her chest. With a hiss and groan, the world span and Liara fell fast and hard. Lost all breath as Javik caught her heavily in his arms.

Liara blinked up at him, still dazed by the sudden change of perspective. A thick worm of pain throbbed at her temples, but at least her vision seemed to be clearing. She tracked the slight grazes that ran over Javik’s cheek and jaw, the yellow under his brow. The red line of his throat bobbed and his eyes flickered.

They stayed like that, in a moment that took eternity at its word. The press of him felt so real around her, for a moment Liara forgot why she had been so afraid.

Javik cleared his throat, loud and clumsy as he promptly made to set her down. The motion reintroduced Liara to the notion of gravity and space. As her feet touched the floor, she at last conceptualised the cramped and dented pod that she’d hung upside-down in. An escape pod, because they had both narrowly avoided death in a ship accident most likely not accidental at all.

Her knees buckled, and Javik lurched to catch her. Absently, Liara noted his unsteady step and the harsh intake of breath. Her hands clutched at Javik’s armour, and she scowled to find her feet. 

It was not terribly dignified.

But they were alive. Liara pressed her forehead against his cuirass at the rumble of fear that threatened to rise again. His armour was cool against her skin, and she tried not to think of another escape pod, one from which she’d emerged alone.

“Liara?” Javik’s tone was almost tentative, and his grip on her was uncommonly tight.

“I…” Liara shook her head at the effort of drawing away. “I think I can stand.”

The corners of his mouth tightened, and his top lip twitched in annoyance. She tried to step away to prove herself hale, but the prothean before appeared unconvinced.

“If you think to faint again,” he began, bluffing with blunt doubt, “do forewarn me.”

“I did not faint,” Liara exclaimed, snapping straight with indignation.

“Swoon, then. As you like,” Javik sniffed. His grip did not loosen from her forearms. 

They fell into silence, then. A stream of fear and relief jumped through their skin to one another; flashes of terror and darkness and the sound of fire. Liara felt the reassurance of him nestle underside her brain, his hearts beating rhythmic evidence of his survival. 

[You were/are very afraid].

It came as clear as a mirror to her mind. Not a question, accompanied by a steady assessment of her features and deeper inquiry. There was so much more inside her, between the sparks of light between nerve endings. So much that Liara could not quite let Javik see yet.

Even now.

Liara drew away at Javik’s gold, quadratic gaze. She had too. Tucking hands under her arms and ignoring the sharp sense of loss that scraped out her insides, she cast wary eyes over the ramshackle interior of the escape pod.

“We’re planet-side?” Liara’s voice felt hollow, legs still unsteady.

“So far as I can tell.” Javik turned away from her, brusque and brash. As if he were not at all unsettled by the distance she’d put between them. The corner of his mouth dipped. “We are not spinning aimlessly in space.”

A sick, curdling sensation turned her stomach; the walls of the pod seemed very close, and the planet beyond them was not a gentle one. 

Slow breaths; one, two. Hands hidden where their tremors could not betray her. Liara swallowed and closed her eyes, mind scattered from fear and shock and relief. Tried to think, prioritise, assess, but her brain was not cooperating. 

Had Lucen’s Eyes been behind the explosion? They were her prime suspects, but Aanja had supposedly been keeping them busy with false trails. Or had the ruse been humoured whilst another team crept to her back? Worse, was there a leak in the Shadow Broker network? Was Thrasyes involved? Had Feron known? 

Or was it some other group out with a grudge for her? There were a few, if only for Liara’s known ties to the Shadow Broker.

What had happened to Glyph?

Her eyes burned, and breath quickened. Liara shook her head, mentally scolding herself for being so distracted. Behind her, the sound of Javik wrenching at the latch for the pod door hammered at her temples.

“We’ll be fine,” she assured herself. Did not listen for the pause that meant Javik had heard her. “Just think.”

There would be time later for paranoia. Currently, the priority was surviving Therum’s bleak desert long enough to find a settlement. Liara’s fingers tightened against her ribs; this planet was not strange to her. She had survived and struggled and studied it before, and without the dogged skills and years of experience she’d since acquired. 

After all, they’d already survived the crash.

Javik hissed in frustration, and metal creaked. Liara took a deep breath, one for her nerves. And another for conviction, and turned to lend a hand.

.

.

 **89.**

It took a week of dusty, drawn out travel [dust coated tongues and empty bellies] before Liara found a comm-buoy signal she could hack. 

They did not speak much [he and she], even when the horizon stretched [forever] only to empty rock. It was too much effort, when all that could be said were suspicions of intrigue and betrayal. Javik could taste the fraught fire caught in Liara’s heart [smelt it from her skin]. She stared too long at the night sky [angry and afraid], huddled as they were under what shelter the desert provided [a stunted outcrop] [the ruined shell of a Geth Colossi]. 

Three days more were spent waiting for the out-of-work trucker to pick them up. The human [wiry with stained knuckles] was generously reimbursed, of course. A long, lidded look [curled the curves of Liara’s body] suggested that another form of payment would have been welcome. Javik had stared the grimy trucker down as he [nervously] wetted thin lips; all four eyes ablaze with the thought of ruin [the snap of bone and torn flesh].

Therum’s capital, when [at last] they reached it, was as exactly as horrifyingly ugly and industrial as Javik had expected [no grace in conformity or design]. Nova Yekaterinburg was a heaving mess [slick in the air] of dirty factories, cheap housing and cheaper bureaucracy.

The trucker smiled with brown-stained teeth when they slipped away at a fuel station [pale throat soft and vulnerable], but he was left alive [unwise] [dangerous]. Javik departed with teeth bared, following Liara as she led them through the lower end of town. 

He did not comment when they stopped at a poor store front [tacky paraphernalia and racks of gimmicked clothing], and Liara bade him done a long and heavy headscarf to hinder his [proud] [prothean] features. Made no mention when she obscured her own with clumsy cosmetics. 

At a watery looking motel, Javik lingered outside as Liara bartered with the receptionist [cash only] [wary disinterest fluttering through picked fingers]. The cloth at his face itched. 

An old Earth animal [canine] dozed at the door, nose twitching [his alien scent]. Liara emerged at last, swinging a key around her finger with only half a smile [eyes dark with weariness].

By the time they’d trundled to their room [mothball and mildew], scoured and surveyed it for bugs and set up their own, a bone-dreary weight dipped seemingly from Javik’s every limb. Liara, too, was clumsy; bumping against him in the confined space that was their [momentary] sanctuary. 

Javik had only [just] enough mind to remove most of his armour before crawling [crashing] into the thin double bed that occupied the room. Liara soon followed, flicking the lights off into [blissful] darkness. She was warm behind him, distinct [the sigh of her fatigue] against the buzz of the mini-fridge and the sirens of the street [she was there] [alive]. 

[Alive].

He slept [he must have]. 

He awoke to the sound of her stuttered breath.

Javik blinked in the gloom [not space] [not a pod]. The bed creaked as he eased onto his back. The cadmium tang of a lamp light through the curtained window ran startled lines down Liara’s spine. Small tremors shook her shoulders, rippling yellow [jasmine and ecru] from her neck and taupe [green and grey and grave] from her ribs.

She was sitting up on the bed [a belated realisation], but curled over her bare knees.

“Liara?” Javik’s voice felt too worn and rough for the question he meant to ask.

“O-oh,” she stammered, words thick and heavy. “Javik. I-”

The shadows of her back were sharp beneath her cut-off shirt, and Javik found a deep and timbre pull in his bones to reach out to touch [comfort].

“Yes?”

[Not enough] [you fool].

But she could not answer him, only hid her face away in her hands. Wretchedness roiled over Liara [a thick tar under her skin] [sliding through the dark] to push against his nodes. It tightened his throat, because she had turned away from him to suffer this alone [he was right here].

[Why had she turned away?]

[Why did he care so?]

“Why does it feel as if you are suffocating?” Javik asked instead.

Liara simply shook her head [the deep lines along her neck bowing], and did not look his way [still not enough]. He watched as she [slowly, precisely] dropped her hands, turning enough that he glimpsed the outline of her cheek and nose.

“I-,” Liara began, fingers pressed down into her own skin. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Javik contemplated that [like a fossil embedded in stone]; he had not seen her so discordant in a long while. Had thought she’d gathered up her distress enough [back at the pod had been a crafting] to forge it back into a weapon. It was a necessity, stranded as they were a long way from allies and aid. What mattered was the mission, all else could be dealt with later.

He supposed [belatedly, resignedly] that later had arrived. What scant few hours of vulnerability they could allow themselves before dawn. 

What word had spread of their survival? Would help or harm arrive first?

Still silent, Javik reached out with a strong-knuckled hand. He hovered a moment [air awash with her emotion], before placing it lightly at the base of her neck [the bumps of her spine ran down] [cerulean sheen pebbled]. His thumb brushed against the striations of her under-crest. Liara shivered.

The flashes of her fear was unsurprising [fists beating against a pod’s walls] [the last, choking breaths of Shepard over the comm] [alarms blaring wrongness] [a sharp glance from her reading] [he wasn’t there and the ship had been breached]. The sensations bled together in her mind [loss and fear] [relief and despair], and Liara sought to separate them [knew she should], but could only ever return again and again to that sick, agonising helplessness.

[ _My fault_ ] whispered her thoughts [ _I should have done more_ ]. 

“You have lost your equilibrium,” he stated simply [tongue thick with worry], drawing back enough to give her context [the steady beat of his own hearts]. “I can help you.”

“Javik,” she started again [shame bled through] [a burden]. 

Because it was not just the fear and the helplessness, but what informed them [a strong current deep beneath choppy waters]. Mouth dry, Javik felt the force of it brush against his awareness [like electricity through their skin]. He wanted to touch it [feel it encompass the hollows of his flesh], but Liara reeled in the parts of her that were pulsing [reaching for him].

“You-“ He frowned at her mental withdrawal [to be respected] [but-]. She hid behind her fear [a sheer, obscuring veil]. “Liara.”

“I-I just need-” She cut off her own words when Javik slid his hand higher to cup [cradle] the back of her skull. Yet she could not quite smother the thoughts that birthed them.

[ _Help_ ] [ _strength_ ] [ _comfort_ ] [ _contact_ ] [ _courage_ ].

Nostrils flaring [scenting her reaction], Javik scooted close [this he could do]. Liara’s head twitched, as if she held back the impulse to turn. He ran his [eager, careful] palm over her shoulder, and tugged ever so gently.

Her intake of breath was sharp [a deliverance]. It did not take much for Liara to follow his direction and curl into the curve of his body [made now a shelter] [not a soldier]. 

“I have been remiss again,” Javik murmured [ignored terror and pleasure at this new thing]. Her shoulder dug into his chest [near his primary heart] as her temple pressed against his clavicle. The angle was awkward, and he shifted his hold her so as to better bear her weight [sorrows].

[It was on his account, after all].

“No,” Liara insisted softly [recalcitrant but, oh purple with want], hand clutching at his bicep. “It’s just…”

Water from her cheeks brush his skin. This [quiet grieving] [coping], Javik now knew, was a process common to this cycle. Travelled with touch and talk that for his own kind was far more immediate and instantaneous. Liara was not a prothean [he had to remember the distinction]. 

Outside from the street, loud voices sung [badly] in intoxicated cheer. 

“Of all the asari,” Javik sighed, snaking his other hand across her back [an anchor to her storm]. His fingertips brushed her hip [scandalous] as the blade of her face pressed into the crook of his neck [frighteningly intimate]. “And I am burdened with the one recalcitrant to initiating touch.”

That drew a [watery] chuckle from her throat. A sigh rippled through the press of her [caressed his nerves] [hungry and eager], and it gladdened him to feel.

He had never, Javik realised, held her for her own sake [only his].

“It’s not your way,” Liara said after a moment; her hesitance colouring like stone against his senses. 

“It does seem overly superfluous,” he admitted, with a world weariness that was mostly a sham [contextually]. The [answering] smile pressed against his neck [coated with sweet humour] told Javik she understood this. “But not unendurable.”

“Thank the Goddess for small mercies, then,” Liara returned. This too was tinged with amusement [gentle irony]. Her arm unfurled from where it had been tucked between them, and Liara slipped it around his own waist [to reassure] [to hold]. 

He did not object.

This night was made for their vulnerabilities [after all].

.

.

**90.**

“I’m not going to lie, ma’am, the info-drone is in pretty bad shape.” 

The asari vanguard on the screen looked up with steady confirmation. Only the smallest of muscles under her ice-blue eyes betrayed the bad news she conveyed. 

Not that Liara expected anything less from Captain Aanja’s second; Faovar Sparti followed protocol as if it were scripture. If her subordinates theorised it as an offshoot from her turian father, it was when the vanguard was most certainly not in earshot. 

Liara bit back a sigh and rubbed at her temple.

“Honestly, I’m impressed you found Glyph at all,” she answered, tapping a nail against her knee. A tiny wash of satisfaction flickered in Commander Sparti’s neutral expression.

“It was no trouble, ma’am.”

“Well,” Liara continued, parsing out the thoughts in her head. “Gather what you can and box it up. Once we’re done down here, I’ll pick Glyph up at our rendezvous.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

It was not impossible that she would be able to repair her loyal, if erratic info-drone. It was not even that Sparti and her crew would not be able to, but Glyph was the Shadow Broker’s creation. Liara would have none but her own hands crafting the lines of code that made up Glyph’s core programming. 

She resisted the urge to chew her bottom lip; it would take time and concentration to get the drone back to optimal performance. Two things that seemed scarce to her these days. 

That blasted crash had disrupted so much. Her own well-being notwithstanding. 

“Any word from Aanja?”

“Only to say that V’Della and her cronies continue to hunt after her,” reported Sparti. “Whether they still think they’re trailing you is unclear.”

“And no word from the Shadow Broker?” Liara knew the answer, but she had to ask. There had been one, fraught call with Feron after the crash; she’d insisted he let her commandos sniff out who exactly had been responsible for blowing up the transport ship. 

Appearances were important; the Shadow Broker had to be seen to be impartial. Feron had not liked that.

“No,” affirmed Sparti with a short nod. 

“Alright.” A wash of weariness soaked through her skin all at once at the mess of it all. Liara ignored it. “Keep at the investigation, and keep me updated.”

“Affirmative.” The sea-green asari snapped up a salute before signing off. 

Deactivating her omni-tool, Liara tried not to sink into the driver’s seat. Time and concentration, and it had been hard enough to procure the ET3 vehicle and supplies needed to simply get out of Nova Yekaterinburg. Javik was not an inconspicuous companion, and there was so much she still did not know. 

If she leaned back, stiff and unwelcoming as the seat was, Liara was not sure she would be able to drag herself up again.

Swearing softly to herself, Liara rose and slipped out of the civilian vehicle. 

Javik was nowhere in the visible perimeter, but she did not doubt he had found some clever perch to watch the canyon that stretched almost to the horizon. They’d been driving across it for hours now. As was, their vehicle was perched behind a rock formation beside what might have been an initial, ill-advised attempt at look-out parking.

Dusk was settling across the sky, casting a rosy glow over limestone and earth. A familiar hue, and one she had not seen for a long time. Facets of crimson and yellow ochre tinged the canyon’s shadows. 

She had been so young when she’d joined the small research team to scour the surface for any untouched ruins. So full of ire towards the mining corporations that had plundered so many of the prothean sites she’d studied so diligently. Never mind that they were Therum’s life-blood.

A small chuckle eased out from her throat; Liara had been determined to solve some cosmic mystery. That idealistic, naïve maiden, who dreamed of the magnificence benevolent of ancients who guarded the mysteries of the universe, was a long way from the asari who once again stood in the desert. 

The haze of Therum’s atmosphere was stark again the endless dark of space. She lay a hand on the bulky hull of the ET3. For once her world was calm and quiet and cool.

“The perimeter is set,” Javik said, startling her when he appeared at her shoulder. Gold eyes slid sideways at her reaction, amused and admonishing all at once. “We should be set for the night.”

Liara sighed at that; another night sleeping in the mid-section of the ET3 was no great trial.

It was no joy either. If Therum’s winds howling through the canyon and the impossibly thin bedrolls they’d paid too much for was not enough, there was the constant circle of thoughts that plagued Liara to restlessness. Scenarios of betrayals and shadowy figures who slipped into the vehicle to slit their throats as they slept wound through each thread behind her eyes, saboutaging her sleep.

Rubbing her arms, Liara looked up to note that Javik had brought up video feeds of the four surveillance drones he’d set up at key points. She’d managed to get them at a discount by meeting the dealers leering once over with a coy smile and the smallest, appreciative wiggle. Javik, thankfully, had not been close enough to witness the display. 

Still, she’d still paid too much for the drones. No weapons to speak of and these machines had none of the subtle initiative of Glyph. 

She bit her lip, and leaned a little into Javik. His expression had turned dour as he attempted to tweak the drone’s programming remotely. Though his pauldron prevented any excessive intimacy from the gesture, the tightness under his eyes faded a little at her presence. 

“I’m sorry I could not find anything better,” Liara said softly as lines of code danced under his fingers. The padded lining of her jacket did little to buffer the edges of his armour.

“The inusannon might have longed for teeth, so that their words had cut,” scoffed Javik, though an amenity of feeling brushed through where they pressed against one another.

“Yet still, were the thoi’han eaten,” she finished the prothean proverb unthinkingly. “An interesting turn of phrase.”

Javik jerked at that, hands dropping as his head snapped to her in confusion. Straightening, Liara cast her own quizzical expression at his surprise.

“Where did you learn that?” His primary eyes were wide and luminous. She admired their colour, if not the intensity now pressing against her awareness. 

“From you?” Liara blinked, but now that she had said it, the answer did not seem correct. Her brows furrowed, for the knowledge had been as old and instinctual as memory. “Or maybe…”

A small bark of laughter sounded, and Liara looked up in time to see Javik’s strained exasperation as he turned away from her. 

“Javik?” She made to step forward, but he shot a bitter glance back her way that caught her heart sore.

“I should learn to stop underestimating how deep your asari meld goes.” Javik shook his head, the points of his teeth cutting on his words. “How much more have you gleaned from me?” 

She was wordless at that, even as understanding twisted together. Somewhere along the line Liara had absorbed up more than the feeling and comfort he’d offered. Eltainia, probably. Javik had let her in deep then, to show her the prothean’s last song.

Did he regret it? The thought sent a chill like ice through her veins and froze her tongue. 

Liara wrapped her arms around herself and looked away. So much of her had been folded into holding back, to spare Javik the burden of her feelings. That she might have unconsciously, unknowingly undermined her own resolve brought sour slime to her tongue. This whole mess was not what she had sworn to him.

Her alarm must have been loud indeed, for Javik halted mid-step. It only registered on her peripheries, as did the following footsteps until the press of a footfall disrupted her bout of self-absorbed pity. Javik’s two toed boot came into view.

“That…was unfair of me.” His tone was gravel rough and close, almost unreadable.

Liara swallowed hard and nodded. It took her two tries to bully her voice into action. Made the corner of her mouth curl.

“Things must be bad,” she croaked, “if you’re apologising because I’m letting you get away with being an arse.”

“Dire indeed.”

When Liara looked up, Javik’s eyes were bent to where their hands hung at their sides. His long fingers flexed and curled into a fist, knuckles popping from beneath his gloves. Her own thumb twitched with an aborted motion.

“You were not the only one shaken by the crash,” he said, very, very softly. 

Ah.

Of course.

Neither of them moved. They stood quiet in Therum’s twilight, watching and not watching each other. As the stars slowly glimmered and grew above them, Liara knew that there were things-feelings- that both of them battled with. For each other.

And, Goddess, if that wasn’t just as terrifying as every peril they’d yet survived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry about the wait. Stuff and things. Did a fair bit of planning for the rest of the story, so with luck it will all come together.
> 
> Hope you all stay safe and strong in these precarious times.
> 
> Glossary
> 
> Atamna: Athame high priestesses  
> Agbei: Prothean midwives.  
> Arthana: Thessia’s capital city. Where the Temple of Athame was located.  
> Chahhu: Asari biotic dance routine.  
> Fyaer: Thessian thorned flower.  
> Kamada: Prothean word for the imperial court.  
> Ke Agbon: Prothean birthing centres.  
> Maalume: Prothean overseers/moral managers.  
> Marbar Ya: Prothean word for the carers of young.  
> Shihiid: Martyr  
> Soaxiib: Prothean word for comrade, typically referring to experienced, familiar military teams.


	16. Chapter 16

.

.

**91.**

Showers of light shimmered across the blue sky of Chasca, running along the precise rings that surrounded the small, tidally locked planet.

Javik sighed, unsurprised [unhappy] to again find Liara transfixed by the sight. Facets of translucent colour flickered in long forgotten patterns against a clear blue sky [mirrored in the pebbles of cerulean across her skin]. It was marginally interesting [just], but he did not understand the fascination [unhurried and hallowed] even the long residing colonists had with Chasca’s unique, artificial light show. 

Pausing outside the research facility that hosted them [where they were due], Javik watched as Liara’s loose fists hovered [distractedly] at her belly. She blinked, face scrunching at the brightness of the sky, and tilted her head as if to study it from some new angle. 

It had happened more than once in the week since they’d arrived. Unsurprising, perhaps; what relics of the Empire had been recovered on this planet were few and far between [a nominal outpost, perhaps]. Javik grunted, and tried not to scuff at the dirt underfoot [uncharacteristic impatience darkening his mood]. 

Stepping off the walkway, Javik halted an arm’s length [respectable, cautious distance] from the asari. The building at his back, full of local tech-specialists and geo-meteorologists gathering [like cattle] for consultation, leaned away like a silver shadow.

“My people did not create that,” he reminded her, folding his arms to look at the horizon [resisted following her gaze].

“You are so adamant about that,” Liara responded [scent lavender and crisp blue], all dry humour and distracted attention. It made Javik bristle [he did not think why].

“Do you actually want my opinion,” he said snidely, “or am I just here to look impressive for the locals?”

[Stupid] [petty] [wanting]. He could not bite back the words.

If her eyes flickered to him, Javik did not note it [wanted them to].

“Tsh,” came her reply, ignoring his petty objections. “Are you so sure?”

That annoyed him [the question of his certainty] [a prothean was always certain]. Snapping his gaze around, Javik found her expression steadfastly neutral [bar a gentle curl at the corner of her mouth].

“We would not have wasted time and effort on something so decorative and utterly pointless.” It was a concentrated effort to hold back the irritation that ran up his lungs

“It might not be purely decorative,” Liara countered [the press of her mouth lined green with frustration]. She looked back up at the crisscrossing crystalline now lining a stretch of sky, arms tucked around herself [defensive]. “And what about earlier iterations of the Empire?”

She did not say ‘your empire’, and Javik was not sure if he were glad or galled by that.

“What fathomable purpose could these rings have?” Javik snapped [churlish, even to himself]. Her calm was cool and billowed about her scent like the sea [pricking at the ragged and ruined parts of him]. “It does not match Imperial design or ideology.”

The freckles on her face shifted with the twitch of her expression. He wanted [should not want so] to press away the frown they ran in to.

“That’s why I thought it might be older.” Liara sighed heavily and picked at her omni-tool [apricot and amber scent under her eyes] [ah, a reaction]. She did not bring up any of the diagrams he might have thought she had on file [breathed deeply to calm a storm].

“More likely it was formed by a race we later assimilated.” Javik licked his teeth.

“Don’t you mean conquered?” Her dark [navy] lips pursed in displeasure [at last] [a taste of victory].

If only she would stop looking at the wretched sky [such pointless yearning]. They could proceed to the conference room where Liara would smile [polite and intent] and Javik would glower [bored and frustrated], and the human researchers would bustle with excitement and pride at the meagre finds they had found [scraped from dark earth] on the [limited] habitable equator of minor and miserable planet. 

Such was the pattern they had fallen into.

“As you please,” Javik said instead. Tilting his chin, he sniffed derisively. “What little difference it makes now.”

The sight of her [obvious] scowl as Liara stalked forward twisted a thread of [cruel] pleasure in his gut. Ah, to see her angry and with fire in her eyes [this he could deal with] [a familiar adversary]. She had been far too contemplative [shy, soft, sweet] since Therum [they could not afford that].

Even now her foes could be lurking in the corners of Chasca’s small colony [as it was] [asari were sly]. It was a planet of extremes [two-faced and singing death] after all, no matter what superfluous splendour some long dead fools had managed to write across the sky.

“You’re right,” hissed Liara, leaning toward him [invading his space] not with comfort, but challenge. “Why ever would the protheans ever create something with such a pathetic purpose as to bring beauty and pleasure to others? How foolish of me.”

“Hah,” Javik barked, and let his long teeth show [presented strength to defy her anger]. “So you are learning.” 

Violet ire flared about her [so easy to provoke] [a fury like suns bursting in her eyes]. She was close, Javik could count her freckles had he the inclination [yes] [no]. Liara did not shy away, though it seemed her fury would not be formed into words [he knew it regardless]. 

He wanted to press his cranial plate to her forehead and feel the hum of her thoughts against his own.

But Liara had already shoved him aside. Scoffed in disgust as her wrath and disappointment [in him] struck from her skin and into his own [ah, she was clever] as she stormed away up the walkway. 

Javik watched her retreat, each furious step aligned with his beating pulse [pounding at his ribs]. What satisfaction that had sprung from her aggravation sizzled out at that [frightening, foreign and false] impulse to initiate contact. Intimate contact.

That had been [overwhelming] unexpected [not his intention]. His lungs felt hollow in the aftermath. 

What new disgrace was he coming to? If he were before the Maalume, swiftly would they strip open the weakness within him and pull it out bleeding.

[You are a soldier].

Was he? Still? 

.

.

**92.**

“Glyph, are you in?”

“Synchronising with Eldfell-Ashland Mining on-site servers.” The illuminated patterns of the drone’s circuitry span and pulsed.

Liara brought up Glyph’s interface on her omni-tool, fingers darting as she searched the reams of data for anything useful. They had approximately eight minutes before the foreman assigned to supervise them noticed that Javik and Liara were not, in fact, inspecting the prothean elements making up the generator of the very old and established hydro-electric dam. 

Hacking into the files of her supposedly helpful hosts was not a practice Liara regularly employed. Eldfell-Ashland Mining had been overwhelmingly polite in showing their guests around the remote, underground dam on Gei Himmon. Liara had marvelled at the ancient construction, much of which dated back far further than 50,000 years. Many of her colleagues from the University of Metharme would have happily sold a limb for a chance to inspect the engineering EAM employed here. 

Such access, and every technological advance that came forthwith was a rare thing and strangled with enough red tape to hinder even the most cunning of researchers. Granted, that they were good, law-abiding researchers.

Oh, EAM had declared what shattered beacons Gei Himmon had hidden, officially barred the plundering of ancient burial sites and declared each tonne of eezo shipped out. All by the book, ostensibly, and the large conglomerate was free to keep what trade secrets it had gleaned from the planet.

This was not why Liara now trawled through their data files, Javik stiff as he watched the door.

“Huh.”

“What it is?” Javik kept his voice low and even against the quiet of the office.

“Eldfell-Ashland Mining is not the only company to have a stake here,” Liara answered, equally soft as she pulled up the file.

“Extensive ren-n-n-ovations to this facility were done two h-hundred years ago by a Thessian mining conglomerate,” Glyph informed them from the port. Liara winced at each glitching word; she was yet to smooth out all the digital scars of Glyph’s reconstruction. “The-ey later went bankrupt, and all investment in this planet was officially abandoned until human interest approximately twenty years ago.”

She pressed her lips together.

Official meant very little when she could run the numbers to find some very interesting asari investors paying for the mining giant’s projects.

“Glyph, what was involved in those renovations?” 

“Information unavailable,” piped the drone, and Liara cursed. “Though the project was headed by a Matriarch Pelatis, who, at the time was known as Pelatis V’Della.”

Liara sat back on her heels, listening to the roar of her blood bellowing panic.

Well, it was not as if she hadn’t suspected; Feron had been very clever in back-tracking the Matriarch’s movements. Liara took a deep breath.

“We must leave,” hissed Javik, eyes bright as he glanced back.

“Of course you’d say that,” Liara responded, not looking up from her screen. “Glyph, have you finished synchronising?”

“One minute until complete syn-n-nchronisation.”

Three minutes later and she was apologising profusely to the foreman in another, less incriminating corridor. The disgruntled human ushered the two of them out and away from the restricted area, glancing sidelong at Javik’s glower. Liara widened her eyes and gushed on about the field coils and alternators. It seemed to mollify her.

Released to walk along the parapet walls, Liara counted her breaths as she ran through possible scenarios. Ahead, Glyph bobbed up and down, recording the enviro-dome and above to the glittering ice that clung to the roof of the colossal cavern that cradled the underground river.

A touch traced her elbow, and Liara looked back to find that Javik had stepped in close. 

Too close, she thought. Not with things like they were between them. At least he held himself away.

“You knew,” he said.

“I suspected.”

A scratchy scoff lit off his tongue, and Liara had to look away at the bitterness in it. She clenched her jaw, for she knew that tone. Knew what anxiety and anger birthed it. So, Liara kept her fists loose and her face still as she continued on with even steps.

“This dam has existed in some way, shape or form since the last cycle,” Liara elaborated after a pause had grown between them, tone dry. “Of course asari would have their fingers in it.”

Javik made a disgusted noise.

“Then you have knowingly brought us into a trap.” It was an accusation; all of his self-discipline could not hide the shock-lanced dismay behind his words.

It was enough to stop her still.

Setting her shoulders, Liara turned around to where he shadowed her. Straightened her throat to hide the lump his allegation had formed. 

“No,” she insisted simply, forcefully. His golden glare was baleful, and her palms itched to reach for him. “I would not do that.”

Liara did not look away; had to make him believe she would not be so careless with their lives. Lowering his lids slowly, deliberately, Javik nodded once and pursed his lips. Liara suppressed a sigh and folded her arms.

“I’ve had agents monitoring this place for months,” she admitted quietly, face turned down to eye the EAM employers so idly keeping them in view. “Do you remember Matriarch Tolmima?”

“Yes,” he answered tautly. Of all the Atamna, it had been Tolmima whose arrest by the Justicars Liara had been most relieved to hear. Even from her life-long prison, the most honoured Matriarch’s long shadows still plagued Liara. 

She suspected they reached across to Matriarch Pelatis, so starved for power so as to sacrifice her own granddaughters for a taste.

Across the cavern, the frozen ceiling gleamed pale from electric lighting. Beneath, still water stretched out and away as black as a starless sky. 

“I have records that place Tolmima here on Gei Himmon at the time EAM began staking their claim,” Liara continued in her hushed whisper. Then, because they were standing on a parapet staring intently at one another, she hooked her arm around his and continued their walk.

A startled grunt came from his throat, but Javik did not resist her urging. Reflexively, they reached for one another as her palm curled around his bicep; the lightest of exchanges. Solidarity, and Liara could not quite hide the relief such a simple act gave her.

“I am certain she cut the deal, and the humans would have been all too eager to reimburse her for the effort.”

Javik narrowed his eyes and dipped his chin.

“And you think V’Della continues her interests here?” 

Footsteps sounded behind them, and Liara let out high-pitched chuckle.

“Did you see what lined the spillway?” She exclaimed as the two humans overtook them with the briefest of interest. Javik’s arm flexed and she squeezed tight. “That vanadium-iridium blend was rare even at the height of the Empire!” 

Javik’s answering huff was perfectly assuaging. The humans continued without a backward glance.

“For such a small staff,” he said, baring just a hint of tooth. “They always find work in our general vicinity.”

She felt the suspicion roiling off him. Patting his arm, Liara pressed her acknowledgement and surety along the web of her nervous system. Let it hum under the surface of her skin. It was a precipice; one she’d learned to balance on to accommodate prothean sensory and emotional exchange. If he reached for her again, Javik would have an answer. 

“It’s not entirely unexpected,” Liara said, watching the uniformed backs of the humans as they skirted about Glyph. “It has been over two hundred years since an outside source did any real data gathering on this site. They’ve yet to replicate anything close to the energy output here.” 

One, the younger human, threw a little mock salute at the info drone.

Glyph bobbed at them politely, and zoomed off on its own trajectory. Liara watched with interest; humans were typically a lot more abrasive in their curiosity. Some corner of her mind wondered if they had been expressly warned not to bother visiting asari. 

“T’Lam will not thank you if you make an enemy of the company,” Javik noted, a muscle moving against his jaw.

“That’s why we’re here examining the retrofitting of technology and materials,” she replied, brightly enough to make him wince. But Liara caught Javik’s eye and the lines of his scowl faded at the set of her mouth. “I’m not wasting this opportunity just because some mid-ranking Matriarch thinks she can pull one over me.” 

“Sometimes I regret asking for your complete devotion to this book of ours,” he muttered, shaking his head. A rush of pleasure surged in her chest like a lightning strike to hear Javik claim the project as a shared venture.

“No, you don’t,” Liara smiled.

Affection swelled and pressed forward, spun at the places they touched. And it was not just her, it was him too. More confirmation of the unspoken ties that bound them. Deep azure rose to her cheeks at the sharing, and Liara kept her warm face forward.

.

.

 

**93.**

 

“I am going to destroy that drone!”

Gunfire blasted behind them, and Javik ushered Liara around the enormous turbine [silent, still and sleeping thanks to triggered safety protocols]. She clambered around the long blades with greater ease than he [damn his bulk], turning back despite his protestations to help pull him though.

“Save it until later,” Liara told him, fingers tight against his arm [seething and sparking].

Javik sneered [oh, he would] as he waved her away [away, away] and turned to crouch [clank of armour against metal]. 

“Is the door there?” Raising his rifle around the edge of the turbine blade, Javik took aim at the asari commandos’ advancing in steady formation and fired.

Water splashed [echoed against the empty penstock] as Liara raced ahead [yellow guilt billowing]. 

Orange tech shields flared [not enough]; through gnashing teeth Javik promised that the [utterly] useless info drone would meet the cold vacuum of space once more [in pieces]. It had only been his [sleepless] midnight wandering [down dark and forgotten paths] [the facility was full of them] that had alerted him to the immediate threat. A chance encounter with the taste of asari pride [purple and tart] and gunmetal along corridor walls; the [fragrant] fear and uncertainty of the [human] night wardens. 

In theory [hah], an [ancient] [prothean] [familiar] underground hydroelectric dam on a tidally locked planet had only two docking bays for incoming vessels; one for supplies and incoming personnel from the surface, and another [exclusive] for corporate visits and Council inspectors. Both of which had Glyph supposedly monitoring each and every security feed [Liara had promised]. 

Javik was [so very] keen to discover how it [the drone] had missed this particular incursion [such incompetence would be unforgivable in an organic]. 

There had barely been enough time to get back to her [Liara] to plot an escape before the hunt had begun [not in their favour].

Ahead, Liara’s pale armour [a small mercy] gleamed in the dim light. Beyond that yawned an odious and open stretch of darkness [the gaping, ice-capped cavern] that could only mean they had come to the penstock’s mouth. The thin line of water slipped over the lip into an unfathomable destination. 

A dead end [for both of them], if Liara did not find that service door and break it open.

[Anger in his gut] [don’t think] [fight].

Unhooking a lift-grenade from his belt [the last], Javik spun and lobbed it around his current cover. The arc it followed was true [naturally], curving to intercept the two commandos ahead of the pack. One swore, and dived out the way as Javik paused only to raise his rifle to shoot the other asari [not so nimble] caught in its field.

She [the commando] was an easy target, and biotic green flared [voltaic and vivid] as he set up a Dark Channel field [cracking the air and ozone] to further slow her [wretched] comrades down.

Their screams fired his blood [an old, familiar stimulus].

“Found it,” Liara called through the comm-link. “Told you those schematics were correct.”

Blue light crackled away his retort [broke the edges of his vision], and Javik had enough foresight to duck away from the answering biotic [Warp] attack.

A green copper tang tasted on his tongue [ah, the sensation], and Javik spat out a mouthful of blood. The fault of his sluggish [dulled] reflexes. Bullets clanked against turbine water and wall alike, and he hissed at his lack of grenades.

“Is it open?” He growled into the comm-link, [always] listening for the pause in firing.

“Not yet,” Liara answered, voice breathy with strain [frustration]. “It won’t-”

Something loud sparked on her end [spiked his pulse] and Liara let out a shocked yelp.

“Liara,” Javik called, but there was a pause [a chance], and again [like a good soldier] he raised his particle rifle to keep their enemies at bay. Static buzzed over the comm-link. 

[What if-].

It was unthinkable.

Javik turned and sped down the channel [abandoned his post] [fool]. Beyond the turbine a commando called to advance.

[He didn’t care].

Like a sudden drop, Javik’s heart stuttered to see Liara whole [singed] [smelt smoke and copper and fuse wires]. Crouched in front of a service door [omni-tool bright and busy], she seethed through her [bared] teeth as Javik slid into the alcove beside her. Did not admire the look of her conviction. 

The alcove did not afford much cover, but at least allowed him pot-shots at the commandos climbing through the turbine. Aside from the service door, the only route left to them in the penstock was a long [impossible] drop into the [ice-fringed] outflow river.

Liara’s gloves were black and burnt [brushed with smoke], and the light of her omni-tool fizzed with fractures. It did not bode well. Still, her eyes were bright [alive and angry] as she continued to dig into the broken lock alignment that held them in this death trap. 

Turning in his crouch, Javik took aim at the armoured figure who’d just squeezed around the turbine blades [crouch and opened her palms]. He methodically shot at every exposed limb and angle [ripe for the picking], but the asari had layered a biotic barrier over her [companions] shields [a difficult and skilled manoeuvre]. A second soldier [amethyst and acrimonious] made it through and returned fire that kept him pinned.

“They are militia from Aurolis.” Javik realised, looking up from his scope; he’d not mistaken the green and silver sigils [long leaves of the jungle] on their pauldrons. The amethyst commando scowled his way and sent another barrage into the alcove’s arms. 

“Aurolis?” Liara paused her distracted muttering to look up at him [an abrasion brushed across her cheek]. “But we haven’t been to Niacal for years.”

Indeed, not since the Atamna had branded her a traitor, and they’d infiltrated the asari colony to steal business data of a biotech company with possible ties to Eclipse. Liara and Javik had hidden in the surrounding jungle [humid and hateful] for a week before Dankana [long lost] had been able to pick them up.

“That mid-rank Matriarch has a longer hand than you expected,” he scolded [teeth tight], pulling back behind the [battered] stone to left his rifle cool. 

When he glanced her way, it was to see Liara’s shoulders slumped [salted with sorrow] and head bowed with rigid resignation.

“Or her benefactor does,” she said quietly [beneath the gunfire], and then took a sharp [resolute] breath. “We can’t get through here. They’ve fried all the circuits.” 

“Then we will have to fight our way out,” Javik declared grimly [caught the strait line of her spine]. “You have a plan?”

“Not a good one.”

[Ah].

She drew away from the immovable door and unclipped her pistol. Close by, Javik watched the furrow in Liara’s brow as her [blue] eyes darted from him, his gun, to the empty abyss beyond the penstock [felt the pace of his pulse peak].

Javik blinked [in wonder and worry] even as bullets struck the walls and water around them. Violence hung thick in the air.

“That is a terrible idea,” he confirmed [the corner of her mouth twitched]. “No.”

“On my mark,” she said over his objection. Blue light [alive and livid] gathered in her palm, and she rose [fierce and unfurling with power] out of the alcove to send a [truly magnificent] Singularity towards the commandos crawling around the turbine.

[It took his breath away].

[And theirs].

He could have killed her for the presumption [but it rang true] [he would follow]. 

Javik was up and at her side, rifle hot and hungry [inflict maximum casualties] before they both bolted for the penstock’s lip. Bullets and biotics bit their heels, and water caught at their ankles and in what was undeniably the worst plan [the largest leap of faith] he’d ever had the misfortune to participate in. 

Javik chased Liara [blood roaring] [don’t think] [you are a soldier], followed as she leapt out and away into nothingness.

The air was nothing but noise and speed [blind and buffeting], and for a fast few seconds he could not get past that. Blue lightning crackled close by [sensed more than saw], and it was enough to ignite the biotics in Javik’s own flesh and bone to encompass [protect] [she was mad] his body against gravity. 

Arms straight drown and palms splayed [fire along his nodes and nerves], Javik sent a spike of green light down [through his spine and toes] to the inky black below. Pushed [desperately] against the rapidly approaching water that would shatter him if not broken first [damn that asari].

But he was a prothean [a soldier], and an Avatar, and Javik would not be dashed against the dark, deep water deep. This obscure planet would not achieve what the Reapers had failed. His [electric green] biotics flared [lit up the water] [cradled his body] and Javik plunged into icy cold darkness.

He lost all breath [like a gale through his ribcage], all feeling apart from frozen shock and exhilaration. His biotics snuffed out the moment Javik had hit the water, and now everything in his system screamed.

[Air] He needed air [it was so dark].

[Liara].

[Air]. 

The weight of his armour sought to drown him [pulled at his back and shoulder], and every kick and stroke felt [futile] like an eternity. A dull [overwhelming] ache hounded his knee. Already, Javik’s lungs screeched, and he battle the [deadly] urge to inhale [give up] as he strove to swim, to rise.

When at last his fingers broke the surface of the [damn] water, Javik roared in victory. Never mind it made him splutter and choke as he struggled to control his flailing. 

It was so dark, even for his [superior] vision.

He could not see Liara.

Wiping a frantic hand over his [searching, searching] eyes, Javik thrashed about [gasping] as his [buzzing] brain fired a million impulses at once. 

[Breath] [your gun] [Liara] [more air] [rest] [safety] [a throbbing, pained knee] [there, the dam outlet walls] [a chance to breathe] [this was a prothean facility] [Liara, where was she?] [were they followed] [what if-]

Snarling, Javik reeled in his unruly thoughts and struck out to the sleek wall [rising up like a tombstone] of the dam. 

It hurt though. Every joint and jerk felt worn to the bone, but he had to get to the wall [had to survive]. 

[Think].

Prothean production facilities often had hidden observation ports and entrances built into them [a war precaution]. Contingencies for contingencies, and everything the Empire [in all its bitter, efficient glory] crafted had a trick to it [theirs was not a gentle strength]. It would not be flashy; it did not need to be. 

Liara had been fascinated by his account [charmed enough to trick].

Javik swam. Tried [failed] not to scan the wine-dark water for cerulean blue.

The cavern’s shape was obscure, Javik [weary, weeping] smacked his face into the wall face-first before he’d realised it was there. The ceramic-metal alloy was smooth and cold, and he read nothing from it bar [stone and silence] the endless press of the water. His lungs burned.

It was hard to continue on [not to simply sink and sleep and slide away]. But Liara…

No. Swim along the wall [he was too heavy] [stone heavy]. Find the ledge or ladder or handhold that surely was there somewhere. 

Mayhap it was hours, or minutes, that Javik kicked against the water with one hand pressed against stone. It was hard to judge [to think]. The darkness [absence of light] pressed against all his senses.

When his hand hit a long indentation, Javik almost wept. 

There was another above it. And below. A ladder, and he clung on with numb fingers with piteous [undignified] relief; he would not sink just yet [would endure].

[Liara].

He could still not see her. Hear or sense her. A bitter lump rose from gut to throat [threatened to choke] and Javik blinked all four eyes rapidly at the salty heat suddenly found there. She had been right beside him in the fall [had been just there].

Was it just him now, alone in this cold and friendless place?

Was she-?

[NO].

The water lapped gently [cruelly] against its ancient cage and the lone prothean that clung there [forsaken]. Quiet, bar the small, uneven sloshing against the dam’s buttresses.

Javik waited [wept].

And waited.

Only.

[Impossible].

[Oh please].

At last his senses must have left him [shallow, frantic gasps above the waves]; it was hard to know what was real midst his worn and grieving mind [so cold and alone]. A frozen corpse that clung on the edge of hope and despair.

But. There were splashes; uneven [inelegant], and the faintest taint of something beyond the mineral scent of water that breathed across the air.

“Liara.” His cry was a croak against the silence.

The strange sounds stopped.

“Liara!” Javik fought against his lungs and throat to throw the hopeful [empty and hollow] prayer across the [insensate] water.

Silence [stupid, foolish, idiotic-].

But then.

“Javik!”

“Liara!” Something fierce like fury burst through his hearts [alive] and surged his blood [alive].

“I’m here!”

Her voice was so faint [but it was hers], but the sound of her struggle increased. Javik swung his head from side to side [golden eyes wide and willing], trying to pinpoint the direction she was in [fool] [what help could he offer]. The lump in his throat swelled painfully [pieced his skull and chest and bones] as he searched for any sign of her against the water.

A watery choke spluttered, and Javik snapped around to see the faint outline of a five-fingered hand and curled crest against the midnight space. 

“Here,” he cried. “I have a hand hold!”

Agony ran through him; Javik [helpless, useless] did not have the strength to go to her [knew it deep in his bones]. All he could do was call Liara on.

And [oh bless that stubborn asari] she swam on. To him and his outstretched hand [tendons whip-cord tight from the reach]. To feel her finger strike his won a strangled cry from his tongue [hearts].

Javik held on, grasping at her slippery armour and dragged Liara to him [would not let go]. She coughed and heaved water as their suits clanked and their heads bumped [alive]. He could see her clearly now [she was there]; waterlogged and weak and fighting for breath and purchase.

Huddled as they were against the hidden ladder, Javik slung an arm around her back to hold away from the impenetrable water [snarled it away] [it could not have her]. There were no words [too raw and jagged] [too much], not enough energy [sapped of strength] for them, and they were not safe yet.

Liara hiccupped [pained] and pressed her forehead against his gorget, one [pale, gauntleted] arm stretched out for the next rung. She was right; they had to go up, else remain clinging to each other until all strength was gone. 

Javik set his jaw [a final challenge], set his feet in the rungs and a hand to her back. A scowl creased her face [what would have been a scolding], and Liara huffed as she set herself to climb.

He followed close behind.

It was long. And painful. Their very bodies [burdened by so much] sought to drag them back down to oblivion. One rung, another. He breathed, blinked back fatigue. Right foot now, then hand. Kept her steady.

[You are a soldier] [soldier on].

When Liara finally reached whatever recess was carved there, she cried out [violet and yellow under her crest] and scrabbled [one last burst of energy] over and onto dry ground. Javik bared his teeth [one last act of defiance], limbs unfeeling and clumsy as he fought to follow [would always follow].

He almost lost his grip when Liara poked her head back over [eyes so bright], hands open and stretching to pull him up that last way. Already, a hysterical chuckle crawled from his [hollow] chest and at last [at last] he could rest.

They collapsed together [slumped like youngling’s dolls], listening [listless] only to their own ragged breaths. He was too tired to think, to feel and watch where they [he and she] now were, but for the moment they lived.

A half sob came from his right; he felt her whole body shake with the force of it.

[Too much] [it had been too much].

Javik hissed [softly] and rolled off his belly. Took in the crumbled form of Liara; limbs unwieldy and askew [half trapped by his own]. Her chest heaved again [raw reaction spilling from her skin], and Javik grunted as he pulled himself up alongside her.

Her eyes opened at that, and immediately locked onto him. Lit by nothing but the lining of her armour, Javik studied her face [intently, so as not to forget]. The tense twitch of her mouth; the pulled lines around her eyes. He moved up onto one elbow so as to better see [know] her. How glad he was to again follow the curve of her cheek [the droplets that clung to it].

He kissed her. 

It was only a breath and Javik found his hand [gentle] against her cheek and his mouth on hers [stealing her breath], and it took just an eye-blink for Liara to press forward in return.

[Oh, foolish, wicked creature] [how far he had fallen].

He did not care. He did not care.

[So very far].

She was alive, and his senses flared to feel the catch in her breath and the relief of her [sang along her nerves]. Javik leaned into it [wanted it], thumb tracing her jaw and chin as his mouth moved in clumsy [ardent] desperation against hers. Somewhere, hands gripped at his armour [like a vice] and his arm hurt from holding his weight [he didn’t care].

Their teeth clacked [ungainly as they were] as Liara angled her face to better accommodate her [curious] nose. Javik rubbed the edge of his nasal ridge against hers [sent them shivers] and laughed [breathed] at her startled reaction.

And then he returned to her mouth [softer and firmer than he’d imagined] [so eager and expressive]. Caught the edge of his canine on her lower lip [small spark of hurt], and soothed with his tongue before deepening the kiss.

Already the tendrils of their minds wound together [a spider’s web] [stuck and shimmering].

Liara sighed [ _you’re alive_ ], slipped an arm around his neck to pull him closer and touched her tongue to his teeth. He opened his mouth in surprise [delight] as she tilted up to brush against his own. Heat flared at his neck and hips, brought by the fingers stroking his occiput. It sparked from skin to skin [matched her pulse to his rhythm] [drew a whimper to his throat]. Her pleasure curled around him [smooth and solid and satisfied], and Javik bowed to be closer. 

[ _curl closer to me_ ].

He panted against her kisses [her hands] [her husky timbre], hot and hungry and Javik knew he should pull back [should not desire such things] [did not care]. Instead, Javik traced her jaw with his teeth, touched the bob of her throat and cursed the high-neck armour that shielded her skin so. 

Wanted to bite her throat and make her gasp [felt the flare of her own azure desire] [yes] [thick and heady against his senses].

[Last of the protheans] [this is how you comport yourself so?] 

They shuffled against one another, Liara slipping her thigh [boldly] between his own [futile, armoured so]. More comfort to be so close than erotic [but oh the potential]. From the deep flush along her freckles, Javik knew she’d read it too [that ache]. Felt the impulsive roll of his hips and watched as the action made her squirm [breathless]. He nipped at her chin, and she laughed.

A fierce twinge in his leg gave him [her] pause [useless].

It was too much.

“That,” he mumbled into her cheek [ignored the cries and curses of his people] [the scent of mhya a blessed cloud], “was a horrible plan.”

It was hard to keep his hands still, his body up. Already, Liara bore the brunt of his weight [legs entwined like vines]. At some point, Javik’s elbow had given way and she’d squirmed her way in closer [under his chest]. 

“I know.” A small rasp roughened her tone [grey misery bled out from under her careful fingers]. “I’m sorry.”

He patted her cheek [stupid, juvenile gesture].

Everything still hurt [especially his pride] [so it should]. Javik had no answer to the last part of his prothean honour. Ignored it to simply rest against her.

“We should move,” Liara all but whispered [she did not want to move] [ _I want to stay close to you_ ]. Somewhere beyond them, the icy outflow ebbed and flowed. “In case they send a drone down.”

Javik grunted, closed his eyes to rally the strength needed to continue on. 

[Oh hear now, ye pride of the people, precious pieces of the whole].

It hurt, to remember those words. Here, now. His pride was in pieces, Javik was a shattered shadow of the prothean he’d once been [fought to become]. Here, in the face of oblivion under dark water [a familiar embrace], Javik had not thought of the last little death of the Empire [his honour].

[Liara was alive].

Liara had almost gotten them killed.

A curl of inquiry [ _what has happened?_ ] began and he battered it away. Extracted himself bodily and mentally from the asari who distressed him so [who saved him] [who ruined him].

Javik shook his head, and ignored the small hiccup his swift departure inspired. He ignored her dazed [disturbed] expression [flush cheeks and crest], and stumbled away.

Yet despite it all, regret did not line his thoughts [as it should].

If only the dark that faced him could hide his shame.

.

.

**94.**

Like all relics of the Prothean Empire, the long forgotten rooms hidden beneath the hydro-electric dam were in remarkable condition. Water-marks ran across the walls, but aside from that there was very little observable damage. 

Alas that Glyph was not there, that they had not more time or resources to properly record this new place. The energy. Liara sighed as she leant one heavy shoulder against a wall, waiting for the stims to kick in.

At the very least the little drone ought to be hidden in some nook or cranny high above them. All she needed was a way to repair her omni-tool so as to reach it. Glyph’s emergency protocols should have had it commandeer Eldfell-Ashland Mining’s satellite signal her commandos for back up. Of course, the drone’s performance of late had been…lacklustre. 

She almost dreaded the polite but definite scolding Commander Sparti would level her way. Vaalsa’s humour. No doubt her father would also have an opinion on the matter.

Javik’s anger.

Goddess, she really had botched things. 

But no, focus. It was easier to focus on where she had gone wrong than consider the distance Javik now kept between them.

The prothean in question grunted as the purple-lit security interface scanned his golden eyes. They had not spoken much since finding shore; words were exhausting and they were not yet safe.

He barked out a string of language and Liara started at his harshness; too fast and fragmented for her to follow. He sunk his hand into the interface up to the wrist. For a long moment they waited in silence as the patterns of ancient prothean defence tech rotated and whirled. 

The tense bridge of Javik’s eyes betrayed his frustration; that taut expression had been set since they’d dragged themselves away from the tunnel’s mouth. Liara let her temple brush the wall that supported her and closed her tired eyes.

Everything ached; all she wanted was to sleep.

Well, almost all. 

Blood rushed to her face and Liara shoved the memory of Javik’s intent and insistent mouth far away where it could not distract her.

Air hissed through her teeth, and when Liara opened her eyes it was to meet Javik’s own. The door behind him was open.

Suppressing a groan, she pushed herself off the wall and approached. Javik’s nostrils flared and he turned to take the lead. Their footsteps in the forgotten hall were loud and uncomfortable.

The air had a peculiar tint to its stale flavour, deeper now. Distantly, Liara lamented how little time she had to record it all. She was almost certain that the last people to have entered this hidden bunker had been prothean, and they had neither the time nor resources to investigate properly.

Alas, for they almost certainly would not be able to access the site again in the next decade at least.

“So,” she said when they stopped in front of another set of frozen doors that Javik set to opening. Liara’s voice felt far too dry and rasping to be her own. “Did you have access to everything in the Empire?”

“Very few doors did not open for an Avatar,” was his curt reply.

She let the conversation drop as the door opened, and then halted half way. Javik let out a low curse, and Liara moved to his side to help pry the cursed thing open. Likely a wire had shorted out somewhere, and the task pulled deep damage from every muscle and tendon in her back and arms.

When the gap was wipe enough, Liara slipped into the covert control room and halted. The air was dry and thin, and tasted like the fine dust of a potter’s empty wheel. Javik’s armour scraped along the door jamb, and Liara shook her head and made room for him.

Lines of light flickered from the ceiling and hummed, struggling to life despite age and disuse. The room was small, lined with long screens that remained dull. Manual controls looked to be at a minimum, and thick lines ran to and fro from screen to screen. Ports of varying sizes and shaped were placed at regular intervals, points at which the lattice of lines converged.

It sent a shiver through her spine; Liara had never encountered a prothean site so pristine and intact. Even Eden Prime had been pockmarked from time, war and betrayal. This undisclosed bunker had simply been forgotten. There was a particular glee to discovering something the EAM had missed in their own site.

Javik was silent as he pushed by. Liara clumsily wondered how long she had been gaping.

“Where do we start?”

Javik did not respond immediately, and she watched the contour of his shoulders rise and fall in uneven motion. His hands hovered just above a screen, fingers following the dull lines that ran through it.

Her ribs felt heavy and tight. Brittle, for all that now she was not fighting for breath. Each movement felt sluggish, but Liara made herself step forward. They had to keep going if there was any chance of surviving the mess she had dragged them in to. Something had caught him, and they could ill afford it.

“Javik?” She touched her fingertips to his elbow, a question.

“What?” Gold eyes flared with the harsh lines of Javik’s snarl, enough to drive Liara back a step. “What do you wish to pull from me now?”

Dread sunk her belly and for a moment she was back in the water; heart pounding and the last bubbles of air fleeing her lungs. The emotion, the vitriol radiated off Javik like a storm that would surely wash her away. 

Only for a moment, and the sensation of drowning ebbed back like the tide. Liara stared, tongue like a stone and limbs just as heavy. Goddess, she was tired. Too tired to combat the furious prothean before her. Javik’s eyes were edged with burnt caramel, brittle and sharp, one hand flat across the surface of a screen.

What had sparked it? Her failure to keep them safe, or the near death they’d narrowly escaped? This new tomb of the Empire?

Or was it that when fear and relief and fight had wrung them both dry of anything bare the barest bones of their selves, Javik had reached for her, and she had reached back?

A wound flared at that thought, tucked neatly under her heart. She’d been honest with herself about what it meant to love someone who had suffered so much. Asari were no strangers to compromise. Even if Javik could not hold her in the same regard, that did not mean that no affection lay between them. She’d acknowledged that was all it could be; expecting more than Javik could give would only lead to a pain that Liara had no interest in revisiting.

If some small, unfurling hope had emerged from the crash on Therum, Liara had noted it only so as to construct a glass cage about her heart to keep herself safe. Under the burden of Javik’s glare, Liara wondered why she had ever thought the glass would hold.

“Fine,” she said, propped up by the last bones of her pride and stubbornness. “I’ll just start ripping out wires over there and see if I can get a signal.”

She spun on her heel and scanned the room for the cluster of screens and portals that most resembled a communication post. This place was untouched and unfamiliar, but the protheans were remarkably reliable in their uniform design.

“Do as you like.”

“At least save your incivility until we are off planet,” she snapped.

“Incivility?” His voice was like a ragged blade. “You risked our lives on a half-thought gamble.”

Liara stiffened.

“I-“

The shadow of him loomed from behind. She felt her gut tighten with guilt and another, unnameable thing.

“Was it arrogance or ignorance that allowed us to be surrounded in hostile territory, with only a broken drone as support and no way out?”

Goddess, she was too tired for this. A distracted part of her mind saw how frayed her control was, and pulled out another stim-patch to slap on her neck. Goddess knew she needed it enough for this argument.

“I know I messed up,” Liara answered stiffly, voice breaking only a little. The stim pack crunched in her fingers. “I don’t see how arguing now helps us survive it.”

Javik scoffed, but she felt him retreat.

Her hands were shaking and frustration blurred her eyes.

But, Liara had work to do. They were not safe yet, and if she was to extract them from the mess she’d made, Liara would need all the impeccable composure of a Matriarch.

Crouching at the base of the station, Liara ran her blackened hands over the panelling. Found the small holds that would let her pull it off to see the wires and boards underneath. Hoped that somehow she would be able to divert a signal to Glyph. Javik was awakening screens on the other side of the room, and she was not inclined to investigate. 

She tried not to dwell on her failings.

Arrogance and vanity at all her clever double-feints and misdirection, even after the crash on Therum, and it still had not been enough. She’d just wanted a return to routine and research. An end to the pointless bickering, and some trick by which to trip up her enemies. And that longing had made her err on the side of recklessness.

Liara had challenged the core perception of the asari; shown that their identity as a people and as a galactic force had been built on deception. She’d known she would not be forgiven for it by a great many of her people. How could she have ever thought to return to a normal life of academic research? Stupid maiden, to think she might be so easily forgotten and forgiven.

An awful, angry part of her mind whispered that this disaster was nothing compared to those still to come. That the next would cost more than her pride. 

And here she was getting caught up by a kiss. Liara would not have Javik chained to her for duty or pity or any other obligation. He deserved to be happy. And safe. Liara was beginning to doubt that she could provide him that.

.

.

 

**95.**

_“With her diplomacy and careful judgement, Councillor Tevos represented the asari through a time of prosperity and transformation. During her term, the Galactic Council saw much change and upheaval, which she navigated with a deft hand and open mind. Such change is still upon us, and I can only hope to follow in my predecessors footsteps in guiding our people to a new and brighter future. The opening of the Tevos Library of Political Sciences is but a small step, but one I am most honoured to take here with you all.”_

Liara sat, fingers steepled and [clear blue] eyes intent as she watched the news broadcast displayed. The small [asari style] survey ship had little of the space of the Normandy SR-2, or even the Ores; Javik would not have minded such a luxury.

As it was, every hitch and [cursed] frown of the asari on the far end [not far enough] of the mess hall’s table caught his eye. 

Not two days since they’d been extracted from Gei Himmon, and the sour taste of his anger [shame] still simmered under the surface of Javik’s [hard won] composure. He did not know what tale had been told to Eldfell-Ashland Mining or T’Lam for their abrupt [chaotic] departure, nor did he much care. No doubt it was equal parts lie and truth.

Javik tightened his expression [neutral] [natural], and returned again to the [blood-drenched] krogan epic of sibling rivalry he was [ostensibly] studying.

“It’s a very clever speech,” Liara murmured [her voice pricked at him]. “Setting herself up as Tevos’s immediate successor, and yet also appearing open to change.” 

The straight-backed Commander [Sparti] [tried and true like a turian] at her side nodded curtly. On the display, an amiable looking Councillor Irissa gestured gracefully at the building [garlanded with sapphire lilies and ivy] behind her. Shots of the eager crowd [Victory Station] [festivities in the background] showed an asari majority audience.

“It is a slight on Matriarch Aethyta,” agreed Sparti, and Javik could taste the [violet and green] fury that radiated off the asari commando. “Trying to leech off her post-war achievements.”

It was not an incorrect assessment; asari councillors served long terms [comparatively], and Aethyta’s had been short and shot with change. A skilled politician such as Irissa [sharp-faced and sly] should have had no trouble claiming her predecessor’s successes. Such a creature did not plan for a short game [made her dangerous] [wise]. 

He watched as Liara inclined her head at [loyal and limited] Sparti, before bringing up another feed on her omni-tool. There was a tautness to her expression that had not been evident before Gei Himmon.

[Caused by him].

“Not terribly surprising, for a politician,” Liara sighed [crest tilted with floral purple], flicking away the feed she had been scanning. “No doubt Father was not amused.”

“The krogan made her an honorary judge at Tuchunka’s first global battle-games,” Sparti reported dutifully [darkened with satisfaction]. “Very public. It was all over the Thessian News Network.”

An ungainly snort escaped from Liara, and she raised a hand to her face in alarm. 

“Goddess bless the krogan,” she laughed, and Sparti dipped her head [pleased amaranth at her throat]. “It will certainly rankle Irissa. I wonder how her major backers will react?”

Javik clenched his teeth and [determinedly] looked back towards the data-pad in his hands.

Barely two days since they had escaped Gei Himmon are again Liara had thrown herself into espionage [grabbing threads by the handful and trawling for prey]. He only knew she’d slept because the medic [Vaalsa] [oh relief] had frog-marched both her charges to [separate] crew quarters [all but locked them in there]. The contrary matron had scolded them for exhaustion [read worry] and marvelled that their excessive use of stims had not ruptured a heart valve. 

Indeed, Javik could still feel the empty burn on the edges of his nerves. A longing for oblivion and rest, but he could not. Nowhere felt safe now, and the very thought of working on the research data they’d gathered [together] from the hydroelectric dam drew [sick, slick anger] disgust from every bone in his body.

So, Javik returned to the epic tales of the current cycle [to distract and divert]; the empty passion of the past and every senseless piece of wisdom thought to be found there.

It was little help. Javik knew what plagued him [knew what he wanted]. The shame now embedded in every thought and feeling [inescapable]. One final betrayal to the Empire and the people he had already [miserably] failed so.

And he had not cared, either [what made it such a mockery]. Javik had found solace and comfort and relief in Liara [lips pressing into his and breath caught], and for that short moment the whole weight of what he had lost [everything] had lifted from his shoulders. Was nothing compared to what he had almost lost [in her].

They had almost died, their work undone [legacy gone], and all Javik had feared was the thought of facing the galaxy without Liara in it. 

A bitter sin, indeed. Javik could not save his people, or resurrect them. All he could do was remember and record, and live as their glory embodied.

[He was not meant for glory] [meant for vengeance] [had not embodied either of those things when he had kissed her].

[Had not cared].

Javik slammed his fist against the table [a banishment], only to start at the yelp that sounded to his right.

It was Liara [alone now], eyes wide [tasted cadmium flecks dusting her cheeks] in open surprise. Javik blinked back at her, thrown by how deep and long his ruminations had taken him.

“Everything alright?” Liara kept her tone even and empty, posture rigid and on guard. 

He felt a sharp and stinging retort rise to tongue, but Javik bit it back. Turned the corners of his mouth crooked and turned his [too hungry] gaze away.

“Fine,” was all he managed [not well].

A long pause fell between them then [weighted and weary], and Javik desperately tried to pretend he was taking anything in of the text he was reading.

“You know,” she began, rigid and restrained [quiet and so, so afraid]. “If you no longer wish to continue this venture, I understand. Your contract to the University would be easy enough to extract from.”

Javik exhaled sharply, fists tight upon the table-top. A nameless tempest roared at his temples, matched by the dizzy [panicked] rush of his thoughts. Did Liara think him such a coward, whose mettle was made weak with rot and decay? Whence then came the fear?

With alarm, Javik noted he was shaking [alert and armed for battle].

[Pathetic].

But he had no answer for her. The smart thing to do was agree, free himself from the distraction of her and build his own monument to the Empire. One not catered to this foolish and feeble cycle; what did the [mighty] protheans care for primitive regard?

[To leave her side would wound him].

There was no good answer to give. Silently, Liara waited [still as stone], blinking back her own tears as she waited for his verdict. 

[He had caused that water to shed].

Snarling with razor-edged teeth, Javik sent the chair skittering as he stood. Uncertainty flickered in Liara’s scent [fear, anger] [low disappointment], but he brushed it off. Stalked away in disgust [at the two of them] and left the question unanswered.

Maybe he was a coward after all.

.

.

 

**96.**

No matter how awful things were between them, all the jagged exchanges and suffocating silences, when the alert pinged on Liara’s omni-tool she did not hesitate to forward it onto it’s intended recipient.

She did not like the urgent routes it had taken to reach her, nor the bouncing signal’s source for what it implied. Stuck in the small shuttle scanning the prothean site around Kopis as they were, Liara just hoped it was some kind of tasteless stunt.

Javik frowned as he received the message, barely sparing her a glance as he brought up the call.

“It came through an emergency back-channel,” she answered the unvoiced question, knowing there would be no answer. Keeping one eye fixed on the shuttle’s scanner controls, Liara assumed Javik’s piloting functions and kept their steady course. “The vital one.”

A stilted stutter caught the air as the fractured dial tone rang. The buzz of static sounded too loud in the cockpit.

“Ah, Javik,” Zaeed Massani’s rust edged rasp spoke, though the image remained marred by interference. “There you are. Ruddy bastard.”

“Massani?”

A long, wet cough broke over the call, followed by an agonised groan. Liara’s knuckles went pale on the flight controls. 

“You-“ Javik began, and Liara heard his throat catch. “You are injured?”

 _Oh Goddess_ , she thought, but it was too heavy and hollow a prayer. Strangled by the condensed atmosphere that now settled over the cabin.

“Yeah, nasty slug in stomach,” replied the grizzled mercenary. “Figured it was gonna take a while. Might as well g-ah, give you the heads up.”

“Where are Synnel and Lladunn?” It hurt to hear the raw quality under his guarded and brittle tone. “If they have abandoned-“

A wheezy chuckle cut Javik off.

“Nah, I sent them off when it became clear I was a goner.” Another gurgled cough, broken by static. “Good girls; they spoil me rotten. Thanks for the –heh- recommendation.”

Liara sucked a breath in, for there was no mistaking now what kind of call this was. Feron had been right to hand-waved the line to her. She could not stop herself from studying his face, but Javik took no heed. His teeth were bare in warning; jaw clenched and eyes flushed with a quality she had not seen before.

Gunfire rattled on the other end of that call. It could not touch them, at least not physically, but it was deeply unsettling all the same. Javik let out a venomous string of curses, jabbing at his omni-tool for the data accompanying the call.

“What are your coordinates?” He barked it like an order. “We can send word and-“

“Nah, mate. No point.” For all his rough edges, Zaeed’s voice was gentle in its finality. “We both knew it was only a matter of time ‘for I slipped up.”

She heard the stuttered breath of Javik’s speechlessness. Could almost feel the crawling resignation that had crept over every surface. It made Liara choke, made her want to scream and rage and reach out to Javik and wrap him up in whatever shielding she could offer.

This conversation was not for her. 

Swallowing her sour burst of feeling, Liara closed the scanner and switched the shuttle to autopilot. The vehicle was a compact one, designed for specialised survey teams. There was no way to offer Javik the privacy such a conversation ought to have, but at least she could give him the semblance of it.

Unbuckling her harness, Liara slid from the high-backed chair and into the shuttle’s hold. Javik did not acknowledge the action. His crumbling composure, still so severe despite his stillness, kept her hands from reaching out to comfort.

It was no good; Zaeed’s long and laboured wheezing could still be heard from the hull. More obviously uneven now, hitching each time at the end of a sentence. Liara sat down on the carrier seats and carefully placed her hands on her knees.

“You an’ me, we g-eh, get it, right?” A liquid sound clogged Zaeed’s speech. “It’s all in the fight, and if you can’t fight, you die. And so I am.”

It was all so wrong. Such a futile way to live, and a wretched way to view life. Liara wanted to call out, silence Zaeed’s words like heresy. Shout out that life was worth living beyond the next battle, beyond duty and obligation. Death could not be the answer, the only inevitability. Not after all Javik had endured. 

Even if it wasn’t with her, she wanted him to live.

But this was not her pulpit, not her conversation and not the time. This was a dying man’s last testament. Of all the people in the galaxy, and Zaeed had called Javik to witness it. She wondered if he simply had not wanted to be alone.

Liara fought to keep each breath quiet and controlled. All that was left was to let Javik make his farewell. She pressed her palms to her eyes. 

“You still with that T’Soni?” 

There was a distinct pause, and Liara almost heard the hesitation in Javik’s response. She tried to ignore the leap her heart made.

“Yes.”

“Good,” Zaeed chuckled weakly. “Seems like a goody two-shoes. But steady like.”

“I don’t-“ Javik began. Another smattering of gunfire sounded, stealing whatever he thought to say.

“Bleeding out all over the floor,” groaned Zaeed over the link, pained and shifting and fainter now. “Huh. Well, it’s not like I’m surprised. Easier than…”

But the razor rough voice trailed off, leaving only the connection’s crackle to fill the silent shuttle. 

Liara sniffed, tried to wipe her eyes but it was no use. It was not fair. The gunfire sounded louder now, closer to whatever small corner Zaeed had crawled to. 

“Oi!” A hard-edged exclamation broke over the call. “Ape-heads!”

A rolling set of explosions burnt the audio to pure white noise. Whatever it had been was close to Massani, and Liara almost thought it had torn him up too until she heard the grizzly human cough. 

“The fuck-“ Zaeed exclaimed, whilst war cries and fierce gun and biotic bursts blazed behind him.

“Zaeed!” It was the same voice. Female. Liara heard Javik jerk in his seat.

“You stupid bitch,” choked the human.

“You ugly bastard,” growled the newcomer, a string of old asari and common curses backed by rustling. “Syn, get the med-kit!”

Liara found her breath halted in her throat; an awful hope-spot fought against practicality. Surreal in its suddenness. Almost garish in the drama that played out like a vid. His companions had returned for him against all odds, a glorious rescue. But this was no story. 

“What the hell are you doing back here?” Zaeed’s bark over the line was unexpectedly fraught. “I said to go.”

“Shut up, you fuck,” swore the asari over the hiss of armour disengaging. “Fuck, you’ve bled all over me.”

“Shit time to s-start caring, Lladunn.” A weak retort. Tired.

Liara shook her head. 

“Of course we do!” A younger, higher voice objected emphatically. “Hold still.”

She wondered what Javik was feeling. Torn between fear and hope? He did not speak now, did not call out to Zaeed or his supposed saviours. This was no vid, and the galaxy was often cruel. Liara found herself wishing that, just once, it would spare Javik its cruelty.

“Shh-“ Zaeed hissed, and the call’s distortion flared. “Don’t…bother none.” 

“You shush, we didn’t drag are arses out here just to have you die on us.” Lladunn, the angry one. For the first time, Liara heard the ring of tears behind the brashness. 

“Damn.” The word was like a sigh.

“No,” cried the other voice. “Don’t you- wake up!”

Noise like crying, gunfire and biotics wailed and railed about the shuttle. Liara cradled her head in her hands, staring at the floor at the sounds of grief and battle came from some distant planet. No sound of movement came from the cockpit, just the echoes of Zaeed Massani’s last call. Time seemed fixed on the scene he’d left behind.

Javik waited until all the voices, all the fighting had faded from coherency, before, at last, ending the call with a definite click. Liara waited too, though for what she did not know. 

At last, she heard the creak of Javik shifting in his seat.

“Liara,” he called, closed off to all emotion. “We must resume scanning if we are to remain on schedule.”

Her head shot up to stare at the cockpit.

“Javik,” Liara began, heart hammering.

He did not answer her, though she waited. Biting her lip, Liara schooled her breath and expression and stood. Let her footfalls land loud to telegraph her approach.

He did not look at her when she slipped back into her seat. Would not meet her eyes as she waited.

“What are you waiting for?” Javik snapped, but it was a broken sound. His fingers at the controls were unsteady. The turquoise of his face was thin.

“Javik, do you-“

“Leave it,” he hissed. “We have a mission.”

“It’s not a mission,” Liara protested, afraid despite herself. “We can-“

“Leave it!”

Silence rang loud between them. The burnt caramel edge was back in Javik’s eyes. Her lungs felt tight, and it all felt wrong, and Javik was staring at her and there was a wall there that she could not breach. It shook her, and Liara did not know what to do.

Huffing, Javik turned back to the controls, regaining control from the auto-pilot. 

“Start up the scanner,” he said, too contained and composed. Impossibly so. One would have to have lost of comrades to shutter away a last call such as that. “We are behind schedule.”

An empire. A galaxy. 

With numb acquiescence, Liara did as he bid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHH sorry, not sorry.
> 
> Small recap, Lladunn and Syn were the asari bounty hunters Javik worked with way bavk in Chapter 6. I've been meaning to put them in again for ages and here they are.
> 
> As always sorry about the wait and hope you all enjoy it :P
> 
> Glossary
> 
> Atamna: Athame high priestesses  
> Agbei: Prothean midwives.  
> Arthana: Thessia’s capital city. Where the Temple of Athme was located.  
> Chahhu: Asari biotic dance routine.  
> Fyaer: Thessian thorned flower.  
> Kamada: Prothean word for the imperial court.  
> Ke Agbon: Prothean birthing centres.  
> Maalume: Prothean overseers/moral managers.  
> Marbar Ya: Prothean word for the carers of young.  
> Shihiid: Martyr  
> Soaxiib: Prothean word for comrade, typically referring to experienced, familiar military teams.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “To mourn, you said,” he choked, fists balled and pressed to his eyes so as not to see her pity. “Well, who ever mourned my people? What tears were shed for them? And you think this small, singular and insignificant death is the thing I should make a ceremony of grief over?”

.

.

**97.**

Javik did not know the rites for the dead. 

The protheans had not considered death an event worthy of much ceremony [it was an easy thing, to die]. Little more than an acknowledgement of duty done for the Empire [oh hear now of the fallen] and a quick cremation. Provided [of course] that there was a body to cremate.

So much of the galaxy had been a battlefield in that cycle [in that life]. 

He’d been angry when Liara had told him that Zaeed Massani’s [grey and grating] corpse lay waiting in a small morgue on Aite. That Lladunn and Synnal [bounty hunters] [asari driven by thrill and theatrics] waited with it [in vigil] for some pointless ceremony that required his attendance. That Shepard [herself] intended to limp there. 

All for a corpse [Massani was dead] [best leave it be].

Now he watched as Shepard’s crooked figure [so bright still] [so fierce] leant heavily on her cane, arm outstretched to rest a rusted relic of a rifle atop a [cheap] coffin. A white cloth draped over her shoulders [tucked over her hair], the end fluttering at her back. At her side and holding her elbow, thr Commander’s [adopted] turian daughter [Iura] stood to attention.

It was a pathetic place, a burial ground cluttered [inefficiently] with the graves of the lawless and rogues [the forgotten]. Aite was a beautiful planet [a doomed one], and its inhabitants had abandoned themselves to chaos at the expense of strength. Evergreen trees lined the plot of land [like teeth], and the sky above was clear. 

The air [the land] all tasted hopeless, and Javik despised it.

“Thank you for coming,” Shepard’s quiet rasp midst the abandoned monuments made him rankle. “I know this isn’t an ideal way to spend your leave.”

“It’s ok, Mum.” The lanky [worried and wary] turian rested a hand on Shepard’s back. Soft indigo curled comfort between them. “It’s important to say goodbye. Especially to the Old Guard.”

A chuckle clattered about from Shepard to bounce [irreverently] around the graves.

“Is that what they’re calling us now?”

“Haven’t you seen the vids?” There was a wry confidence to Iura’s manner that [could only] be Vakarian’s influence. Some part of that [recognition] made Javik itch.

“You know I haven’t,” replied Shepard, leaning into her daughter’s hold. 

He didn’t want to see Shepard’s quiet [careful] grief, or the support she sought from Iura. It was wasteful, as all sentiment was. A distraction [he should not want] from what was left behind.

Zaeed had been an aging human in a [vicious] line of work that did not treat the weak kindly. That did not allow for second chances. They [over beer and boasting] had both known that the mercenary was on borrowed time so long as he took on bounty work. Zaeed had never been particularly bothered by that truth. 

Javik had known that. Had recommended the asari pair [kind Synnel] [sly Lladunn] to him only in that it had seemed fortuitous.

[A lie] [he’d hoped they would keep him safe]. 

Overhead, some [alien] bird trilled and glided from a tree.

Zaeed Massani was dead. There was no changing that. The only remanent of his brief and brutal life was a headstone marker, sharp cut compared to its neighbours. 

His throat hurt. Javik clenched his fists [trembling and taut] and kept his gaze focused on the back of Shepard’s head [her long braid streaked with white].

“Rest well,” Shepard sighed [sorrow now, in soothing waves]. The sun was high above them. Aite’s deadly [irregular] moon hung ominous in the sky.

He did not need comfort for grief [superfluous] [he’d already lost so much]. He would not accept it [ask for it] [need it]. Liara could take her pity and her feeling and inflict it on someone else.

Let Shepard bear it, in her infinite patience. Let Synnel embrace, as was her want. The sentimental asari [agate blue awash with sorrow] had wasted no time in outpouring her emotion to Liara [reaching for her] when Javik had proved unresponsive.

He had looked away.

“This is why I don’t like getting involved with aliens.” 

He winced internally, though he’d heard the asari approach. Her violet features were etched in a [deep, unending] scowl as Lladunn set herself beside Javik without permission or an apology.

She did not wait for an acknowledgement, either.

“You just start to take a liking to them and then they die.” The older [bitter] asari folded her thick arms and sat against a headstone. “Stupid old bastard.” 

Tart orange flavour emitted from her skin in jagged waves, bristling and brash as she always been. Javik narrowed his eyes, looked for the trick in her façade. He’d not forgotten her cunning [hidden by the blunt force of her personality]. 

Little about Lladunn and Synnel had changed [as asari were] since they’d parted ways [some botched mission] [his unyielding despair], bar the semblance of their grief. Lladunn snorted, and Javik knew she’d picked up on his scrutiny [unimpressed by it]. 

“Don’t give me that look,” she scolded him, eyes flashing with distemper. “We’ve done this before.”

“Allowed your partner to be killed?” The venom in him stung Javik [surprised him] for the strength of it.

“He knew the risks,” Lladunn retorted [unfazed]. Picked at her thumb-nail. “Bounty hunting’s not for anyone with a serious wish to live.”

“How convenient for you,” Javik growled, letting his lip curl as he straightened.

Zaaed was dead [they had let him die].

The look Lladunn answered him was filthy with disgust [rank green and lime].

“If we’re throwing around misplaced blame, then where were you?” She pointed her chin off to where Liara [awkwardly] comforted Synnel. “Off playing scientist or spy or whatever the fuck you’ve actually been doing with that T’Soni.”

“I sent him you.”

It was hard to keep his voice straight [bent by truth and guilt] [no]. He did not like what was crawling out of his throat [ _whatever the fuck he’d been doing with T’Soni_ ]. They should have been enough. 

She [Liara] had ached to comfort Javik [reach out] [press palms against the pustules of his pride and pain]. She had not [he would not let her].

“Oh?” The sound crack of laughter [rusted raw], and the asari sneered. “To do your babysitting for you? I’m flattered.” 

The dead were gone. Dwelling on what brought them down was pointless [his jaw ached] [teeth sharp]. He could not [refused to] think of Zaeed as he’d last seen him. Could not remember what they had said [it was all smoke and water]. 

The old asari watched him with slitted eyes [saw more than was wise].

“Get over yourself, Javik,” said Lladunn [folded her arms tighter].

There was nothing to say. 

[Do not wait for the dead] a Marbar Ya had told him once [they cannot follow you]. He had been young and angry [afraid] at death. Not yet a soldier.

[Let sleeping ghosts lie].

“Why did you even bother to go back for him?” Javik asked [whispered]. His insides felt like jagged ice. 

“Syn refused to leave him. And…” Lladunn shrugged, mouth tight [mauve with mourning]. “Zaeed deserved better than that.” 

Javik blinked up at that cheerful sky.

“He would laugh to hear that,” he said, nodes near and tender.

LLadunn coughed into her hand [a gasp] [a bark] [a cry].

“Yeah, well.” The asari sniffed [sighed] [seethed]. “He can’t, anymore.”

.

.

 

**98.**

“So tell me,” Liara began, biting down on the annoyance and relief that mingled on her tongue. “What inspired you to engage in a drunken fist fight with an asari huntress?”

She dabbed at the thick blood that ringed Javik’s right eyes. The delicate skin about them was swollen dark, the same curious colour that now peppered his cornea. 

Seated on a squeaking chair in the middle of the small kitchenette, Javik bobbed his head and scoffed. The smell of bourbon made her nose wrinkle, wafting off each and every angle of him as Javik clumsily fiddled with his remaining pauldron. Thankfully, the officers who had brought Javik back to the motel room also conveyed the pieces of his armour he’d torn off in preparation for his fight with LLadunn. 

Liara pressed a hand to her temple and tried not to sigh. 

“A brawl,” he corrected after a moment, shooting her a hooded glance. “A fight would end in death.”

Blood stained his teeth and chin. Nonplussed, Liara tipped back Javik’s head to clean up the cuts in his bottom lip. She focused on the action, the open edges of his skin. The way his nostrils flared.

Liara swallowed.

“Why?” The question escaped her like an accusation.

Javik looked blearily up at her, eyes lazy as they struggled to focus. She tried not to think of the bolt of terror at her omni-tool’s police alert; of flailing in the dark room, confused and disorientated until she remembered they were on Aite, and the funeral and Shepard’s soothing and Javik stalking out into the night to meet his former cohorts.

The persistent distance between them.

No, it was just one person patching up another in a cheap motel in a cheap town on a doomed planet. Don’t think on the dead bounty hunter buried in a cheap coffin. The two asari who mourned him. 

Javik’s cheek pressed into the palm that held his face up. 

She focused on the smoky smell of the spirits that clung to him. Her skin buzzed at the contact, wanting and searching. Liara did not allow it.

“What else is there to do in this miserable place?” Javik’s gaze became unfocused, the points of his bottom teeth exposed as she cleaned his lip. “Ow.”

“Stop whining,” Liara scolded, grasping his jaw more firmly to wipe his chin. Goddess, he was a mess.

Perhaps he read her irritation, for Javik pulled his face from her grip. He almost toppled back, but somehow had enough sense to regain his balance on the flimsy chair. Liara huffed and scowled, bloodied rag still in one hand. They glared at each other.

“Young Synnel missed you.” Javik’s leer was an awful mask. An ill-fitting one too, for his eyes were too raw and full for real fury.

She drew away, dumping the soiled cloth on the table to pick up the medi-gel pack. Kept her posture straight like a priestess. Javik watched her, swaying slightly in his seat.

“I have no desire to match drinks with bounty hunters,” Liara answered primly. She hated that this was the closest thing to a normal conversation they’d had in weeks.

“That was not all what she wanted.”

Javik’ expression twitched, but the mask had already slipped. There was something underneath the cracked cruelty of his words, a quality she recognised but could not quite name. It was so late, and she was weary of trying to navigate the minefield of Javik’s emotions.

“No,” Liara replied quietly, turning back to press her fingers to his face. There was static where they touched, a buzzing under her skin that she had to ignore. 

The young bounty hunter had indeed wanted to meld. Had latched onto Liara as soon as they had landed and poured out her loss like an old friend. Javik was untouchable, Shepard unreachable, and Iura unknown, so Synnel sought connection from that which was familiar. She’d touched Liara’s cheeks and lamented how little time she’d had with Massani.

Wanted to steal just a little bit more memory of him.

Liara understood. She had done far greater, far crueller things to stem the tide of her own grief.

Flicking of the cap, she tapped the medi-gel to her fingertips and traced them over Javik’s damaged features. 

“What she really wanted,” Liara said, smearing a thumb over his cheek, “was to meld with you and Lladunn.”

In memorial to Zaeed, she did not say.

Javik was very still. His eyes fluttered closed as she treated the swollen rainbow-bruises. She tried to be gentle in applying the butterfly closure over his cut cheek. A small huff escaped his lungs, and Liara murmured an apology.

“And you?” 

Her finger-tips had barely brushed his chin before Javik asked the question.

“Me?”

“Did you seek such a memorial after Shepard died?”

Perhaps she’d not held back the thoughts from her skin as well as intended. Liara feigned a shrug and dabbed at the graze on his chin. Inhaling deep, she willed herself to stillness.

“No. It’s an old-fashioned custom.” Liara trained her focus on her task; it was hard not to meet his eyes with her answer. “I prefer to meld for the living, not the dead.”

“I prefer to brawl,” Javik mumbled, breath brushing her knuckles. 

“I noticed,” Liara said dryly. The medi-gel was cold where she pressed it to him.

“I prefer you.”

Any answer she might have had wedged in her throat, cut short by a cage of tongue and teeth. Seconds passed, and Liara tried to remember to breathe. More still and she had not moved, and Javik’s heavy gaze lifted.

It seemed too quiet in the small kitchenette; the edge of a void with stars at her back. Only her heartbeat felt real, thundering away at neck and temples. Liara wondered what it would take to break the tableau. 

The corners of Javik’s mouth curled, not kindly, and he moved like molasses that one last inch to touch at her hovering fingers with pointed teeth. 

Air fled through Liara’s lips, and she could see desperate smugness in the crinkling of his quadratic eyes. Javik opened his mouth wider, scraped the bottom line of his teeth against her knuckles. Heat billowed where his lips brushed her skin; she damn well nearly dropped the medi-gel at the sensation. 

“Javik,” Liara began, licking her lips from distraction before noting the desire it implied.

He ignored her. Of course he did. 

Already, Javik had cupped her still motionless hand in his own. The ends of her nerves squirmed and shivered as he ran a thumb under her downturned palm. Slowly, carefully, Javik turned it over to press his toothy grimace into the delicate part of her wrist.

“That’s not fair,” Liara whispered as she felt his other hand settle at her hip. There had been so much distance, so many unsaid, bitter words and now the air hummed between them.

Her comment, though, gave Javik pause. Caused him to bridle with a scorn [fury, fear and falling] she felt through their contact.

“The galaxy is not fair, Liara.” The pit of his voice sounded torn, and his eyes were still so bright against the gloom. “Why else would I want you so?”

Those words hurt for the truth of it. The hand at her hip flexed, grasped at the heavy wool of her dress. The fabric shifted over her thigh, and Javik placed her hand firmly at the red of his throat. Liara gasped a wordless sound at the buzzing, confused hunger that lay there.

His teeth were bare, but not in a sneer or a snarl, or even a smile. His thumb pressed into the dip beneath her hip bone. Cuts and dark bruises littered his face, and under her palm Liara felt each flex and swallow of his throat. His eager pulse pressed at her fingertips.

Her own pulse was eager. Liara could not even begin to name the web of turmoil and teasing that strangled her heart. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t. Javik looked up with fierce intent, bleeding lust and loss and loneliness all into her senses. Reaching out for that well of feeling he knew she held for him in her bones. 

“I want to mate with you,” Javik said. [I want an anchor] she heard and felt [there is too much here] [too much] [failure and regret] [everything is gone bar the taste of your tenderness] [drown me in it] [just a while]. The bourbon was so strong on his words, it stung her sinuses.

How easy it would be to answer yes to him. How incredibly selfish and stupid.

Liara frowned, and reclaimed her hands.

“Javik,” she began. Both of his hands clutched at her waist, knotted in her dress, trying to tug her closer. “You are drunk.”

A flash of annoyance darkened his eyes, and it was almost a relief.

“Yes,” Javik replied, scowling as he buried his face into her belly. Inhaled deeply, and Liara struggled to think straight. “That’s what makes this whole thing so pitiful.” 

The sharp angle of Javik’s face nudged at the line of her stomach. Her hands fluttered anxiously over his carapace.

“I’m not-” Liara bit her bottom lip. The star-scape of her mind ached and twisted at Javik’s reach [please] [shelter me]. 

“You would enjoy it,” Javik promised into her belly. “I would not neglect you.”

He would not; Liara read that in the soft wave of exchange that passed between them. Felt the promise of his tender touch and tongue in scattered impressions of prothean coupling practices. She wanted to [mate and meld] [yes]. 

She shivered.

But underneath it all [the desire and longing] was a jagged burn, a pulsing wound seeping fluid that tasted like fear and anguish. 

“No,” said Liara shakily, knuckles pale atop her fists.

A ripple of discontent shivered from Javik’s thoughts over to hers. It flared to anxious anger when Liara made to step back.

“No,” she repeated again, tugging his grasping hands away from her body. “I’m not going to have sex with you so you don’t have to think about your feelings.”

“Why do you care?” Javik snapped, eyes bright as she escaped his hold. “You’ve wanted this from me since-“

There, he cut his words short in disgust. Fingers clutched at his knees as if scrabbling for purchase. Javik glared up at her with frustration lining his jaw.

“I do not want this,” Liara answered hotly, gesturing at the open med-kit and his scattered armour and the empty night. “How could you think I wanted this?”

“What then?” Javik stood so abruptly, the chair kicked back. “What more must I give you?”

“How about more than a month of resentful silence after an ill-timed kiss?” Liara drew herself tall as indignation and hurt made weapons of her words. “Dangling intimacy in front of me now so that I might provide a distraction is not only cowardly, it is cruel, Javik.”

He flinched from her accusation for all of a second.

“What did you expect?” Javik slammed his palm to the cluttered table. “That I would be proud of lusting over an asari? That I would glory in it?”

A lance of pain struck Liara’s chest, the force of it enough to leave her gaping. It was not as if she had not known; Javik was not quite as skilled at holding himself contained as he thought. But her knees felt weak and her skin tight like a harp’s string as he continued.

“Do you know what they did to deviants like myself in my cycle?” Javik’s teeth were showing, and he seemed as solid as a mountain despite the slight sway in his step. “I would have been castrated, whipped and strung up as a cautionary tale. If I were still alive after a week, I would have been sent to a labour camp to glean what little usefulness was left in me.”

Liara’s back hit the kitchen bench; he’d not even taken a step forward to force her retreat. Iron bands held her ribs tight, and the gold anger of his eyes ran dread from scalp to spine. She gripped the bench-top to hold her hands still from trembling.

“And you, Liara,” a long, bitter hiss scraped over Javik’s teeth. One hand came up as if to reach for her, but the gesture faltered. His voice turned soft and amaroidal. “Lovely Liara. You would have never seen the sky and stars you love so much again. Buried down some deep hole, where your body would have been peeled open and studied to find what it was that made you so dangerous and enticing. Until all that was left to you was pain.”

Tears fell freely from her eyes; there was no hiding them. But Javik seemed too lost in his own captious reverie to spare her the truth of it.

She almost hated him for that; the stark reality of what had shaped and raised him. What had sloughed away at Javik’s personhood and individuality like a sledgehammer against plaster until all that was left was a vicious, vengeful soldier. Even now that there was no war to fight, that was what endured.

All that within in him, and still he wanted her; it was the most stupidly tragic thing and she did not want it.

“We,” Liara balled her fists and made herself speak, “are not in your cycle!”

“No!” Javik laughed bitter at that. “Now there is only me. What little of me that is left loyal to the Prothean Empire. And that almost mindless over a primitive asari. Hah!”

He had not called her primitive in such a long time. The edges of his eyes were wild, teeth glinting. Javik stepped towards her.

Blue light erupted from her open palm, outstretched to ward away danger.

That brought both of them to a jarring standstill. They had been here before, and Liara could not abide the sharp expression of betrayal that had seized Javik’s face.

She turned her back on him, could not bear to look at the hypocrisy of the prothean behind her. The Avatar of Vengeance, last voice of his people. Face hot, Liara stuffed her knuckles into her mouth and bit down. Strangled quiet the scream rising from her constrained lungs.

Insects chirped outside thin, motel walls. Liara studied the tap and faucets of the kitchen sink, the water stains surrounding the drain. A deep ache throbbed from the teeth marks on her fingers. Behind her, Javik breathed ragged and uneven. Her own was shallow, fast-paced things that struggled to keep up with her heart.

“Go,” her voice was a pained whisper, more fractured than forbidding. “Just go, Javik.”

When there was no answer, Liara slapped her own hand down hard on the countertop.

“You can’t possibly have anything more to say to me.” Liara crafted each word cold and curling. “Go to bed, Javik.”

There was still no reply, but his footsteps were loud and shuffling. The shift of the front door slide open and closed, and Liara let her knees crumple and hit the floor as she fell to sorrow.

.

.

**99.**

Javik woke that morning in a graveyard; mouth like ash and head like a volcanic eruption. All four of his eyes struggled to open and gain focus [he’d rather oblivion]. His face and his fists hurt, and an uncomfortable turn sickened his stomach. Against his back was night-cool stone; clean cut and freshly risen.

Opening his mouth, Javik ran his [sandpaper] tongue over the [stinging] cuts on his lip. The sky above was clear, blushing pink and orange with the new dawn.

He cursed it [he cursed himself]. There was a reason Javik had not touched alcohol since he’d left Earth.

At length, an uneven gait approached and Javik sensed the sure-fire of Shepard’s scent [copper and sun-flame] drift on the slight breeze. 

“You look like a hot mess,” said the human without preamble.

“Spare me,” Javik groaned.

The soft rasp of her chuckle ran rings about his head. Javik scowled, but he accepted the large drink and pain meds she offered nonetheless [too weak and pathetic to object]. 

Cool and blessed tartness eased the discomfort of his mouth and throat, thick with fruit and sugar. Javik almost sighed into it [managed not to].

“I’m sorry I couldn’t join you last night,” Shepard said after he had downed the meds. “Sounds like it was quite the party.”

Disquiet murmured at the back of his mind [obscured and opaque], and Javik focused on bursts of flavour on his tongue. Drank deep to ignore what regrets he had made [blue shoulders bent and shaking] [no, no]. His bare feet sunk into freshly turned earth.

“Keep your apologies,” he said at last, closing his eyes to avoid whatever pity lay in her face. “Your presence would not have spared me any pain.”

“It might have spared Liara hers.”

A barbed lance pierced his chest [cracking ribs and bleeding hearts]. It was enough to bring Javik forward from his repose to hiss out his objection [shame] [denial].

“Here to reprimand me, are you?” It seemed all his rage had only been sleeping. “Play in like a hero to protect the wilting maiden? I know how your Earth stories go.”

Shepard’s remaining onyx eye was flat and unmoved.

“Javik,” she said [gently, sternly]. “I’m here as your friend.”

His lips curled back at that, thought he could not deny the truth of her [cursed] words. It sucked all the fight from his ready blood, and again left Javik drained and empty as a husk.

“Bah,” he scoffed [head swaying from side to side], but the bite was gone [teeth blunt]. “You and Liara, I should not have let you talk me into coming. I knew it would only stir up…trouble.”

Shepard sighed.

Dirt scraped and shifted, and Javik blinked to see her awkwardly lower herself to the ground beside him. Prosthetic leg stretched out, she rested her cane over knees and leaned back on her hands. 

“Seems like you brought it here yourself.”

The words tumbled about in his mind. He thought of the crease in Liara’s brow when she had told him they were attending the funeral on Aite. The hand she’d held to her chest when his bruised knuckles drew back from the dent in the survey ship wall.

How it had felt to think her lost to the dark water on Gei Himmon. 

“I brought nothing that I did not already carry.” Each word felt stuck and sour [and far too true]. Javik gritted his teeth, swirled the liquid of his drink. “Zaeed is dead. It is a small matter.” 

Shepard breathed through her nose and shucked the tip of her cane through the soil.

“Then why here?” she asked. “Why stumble to Zaeed’s grave in a drunken stupor?”

A fierce ball of frustration choked him, and Javik turned to Shepard and snarled.

“Because he, at least, will not ask me pointless questions!”

It hurt. All of him hurt and Javik did not how to contain it all. The hand he pressed to his face shook, and his eyes and sinuses burned.

“To mourn, you said,” he choked, fists balled and pressed to his eyes so as not to see her pity. “Well, who ever mourned my people? What tears were shed for them? And you think this small, singular and insignificant death is the thing I should make a ceremony of grief over?” 

Sounds escaped his throat, but Javik would not acknowledge them. A soldier did not weep. A soldier shook off the dust and blood and moved on to the next mission.

[You are a soldier].

His hands were wet and each breath pitched his body forward as the ache in his chest twisted and tightened.

Zaeed had understood, had known that when the fight left you all that was left was to die. Knew as Javik did that the future did not come easy. 

[ _Not all of us blighters were meant for peace_ ] 

Massani had not apologised for his bleak ruthlessness [all battle-lust and recklessness]. Had never asked [demanded] that of Javik either. Would not have expected him to grieve.

[ _Do not think there is nothing in this cycle for you_ ]. But what did Liara know? Thessia had been broken, but not destroyed. Could still be rebuilt [into something better]. Zaeed was dead. So were the Reapers. So were his people.

It hurt to breathe, but he forced each breath through. Quietened the edges of anguish that had been allowed to escape.

“I think that’s been a long time coming,” Shepard said softly, and he did not rile at her compassion. “Thank you for coming.”

“Ha.” It was an ugly sound. Javik looked up at the clear sky. “Maybe I just wanted to strike Lladunn in the face for letting my friend die.”

Shepard let out a snort.

“It doesn’t seem to have done you any good.”

“No,” Javik agreed. 

He could barely bring himself to recall what had led to him waking up in a cemetery on a freshly buried grave. The shame of his actions, what he had wanted [demanded] from Liara, felt like acid in Javik’s belly. 

[The poison he had spouted] [the wound in her eyes].

“I thought it would be different,” Shepard laughed suddenly [loud and sharp]. “Losing someone after the war. But it’s not different. It still feels pointless.”

Her profile was severe against the morning light. The eyepatch hid whatever emotion lit Shepard’s gaze. When the corner of her mouth twitched, it pulled at the scars on her cheek. The world was quiet but for them. 

“I am tired of fighting.” The words fell out like bullets from a case. Javik leaned back his head and closed his eyes. “I am so tired.”

“Old soldiers never die,” Shepard mused; it sounded like a proverb. “They simply fade away.”

Would that he could [that he would let himself that mercy].

“Massani was a terrible soldier,” Javik noted instead.

“Hah. Yes.” Shepard tapped the cane. “Heaven forbid he follow an order he didn’t like quietly.” 

Quiet reflection [memory] hung between them at that. Flecks of sour mauve and tear-stained blue fluttered from under Shepard’s chin [a familiar girdle]. Zaeed had not been kind or clever or charming, but he’d been honest. 

[Had not feared nor cared for his own failings].

Javik did not want to ask. Did not want to know [what damage he’d wrought], but Javik could not sit here against a headstone for the rest of his days ignoring his mistakes. 

“Shepard. Liara, did I-“ His voice would not cooperate [as if it should be easy]. “Is she…alright?”

Shepard tilted her face so as to peer at him with her remaining eye. It was a long and laden moment [of studied contemplation] before she deigned to answer him. 

The pause before her first word sent an inexplicable jolt of terror through Javik’s bones.

“Last I heard,” Shepard began, “she was getting ready to blackmail Lladunn in return for your rifle.” 

That surprised him, as did the levity in Shepard’s tone. It was not to last long.

“This thing you two have…” Shepard’s face was solemn and sad. “I understand things have been difficult.”

He did not deign to answer [could not]. Hazy [haunted] recollections of the previous night bled to the front of his thoughts. The twisted conflict of [Liara’s] desire he’d read under palms and cheek [as he begged] [face buried in her dress], the jagged [biotic] shield of panic and fury when [cursed] poison [truth of his shaping] had spilled off his tongue in bitter retaliation [rejection]. Bile built at the back of Javik’s throat, and no amount of fruit-drink would wash it away.

All Javik had was silence [disgrace]. That, itself, was far more revealing than any accusations the human beside him might have made. Pain pulsed at his temples [an apt reminder]. Shepard rubbed her jaw with one [organic] hand.

“You and Liara have become very entangled.” Her tone was cautious, careful [as if glass trembled before her].

“Spit it out, human,” Javik snapped [tired, taut and trembling], fingers rubbing at his strained eyes. “You’ve never hesitated before.”

So Shepard made her proposal [made it a mission brief]. 

Javik balked. Scorned it [spat anger] until memory scrawled shame again across his vision.

And then, [reluctantly] he conceded.

.

.

 

**100.**

Even within the confines of an ancient vault nestled deep beneath the largest ash-desert Karumto had to offer, the sticky heat of this hell-planet pervaded every inch of her armour. 

Liara hated it. Even after a month on the tumultuous planet, she could find no comfort or ease there. Absurd; the cracked and jagged prothean ruins of Karumto were notorious for the data hauls and relic finds that would have made her younger self giddy with enthusiasm. 

When she’d first acquired the mantle of Shadow Broker, a pang of real regret had struck her to come across the information regarding the discoveries of Doctor’s Cayce and O'Loy. The ill-fated ‘Project Firewalker’ files had seemed a mockery of the maiden Liara had once been. Yet in spite of the unstable terrain and treacherous surface of the planet, not all the prothean sites on Karumto were completely destroyed.

Now she walked through ancient and stuffy halls, heart-sick and scowling at the atmosphere.

It was the heat, Liara told herself. Being suited up for every venture out the prefabs wore one’s patience.

At her six, Sparti stalked her shadow with stony efficiency as Vaalsa snorted at every prim and proper turn the younger commando made. Glyph bobbed at her heels.

Liara ducked under a white tent-flap, nodding at the researchers and assistants carefully extracting data discs and shards from a wall that once would have been lit with colour. Lines ran from wall to floor to ceiling, cracked screens and panels jutting out at belly height. 

Scans of the wall itself revealed it to be a part of a compactus. Long since fused in place and already damaged from time, careful probing by the mostly salarian team revealed at least a dozen more of these massive storage walls hidden away. Buried by rock and sand.

Most of the shards were dead, or dormant. No attempt had yet been made to revive them; such work would be done once the artefacts were safely back in civilisation. Only once in Liara’s presence had a thin pulse of green emanated from a delicately extracted, live shard. Gold and glimmering, it was not entirely dissimilar to Javik’s Echo Shard, but even he had been rather cagey about the details. Not entirely surprising, the data extracted from such finds could raise planets out of their Stone Ages.

“ _That is a vault,_ ” Javik had said when she’d first shown him the scans. He’d frowned severely enough to be visible over the faulty comm-link projection. “ _An archive vault._ ”

“ _Yes, I think so,_ ” she had agreed. “ _Look at the triangular design of the power grids, it must be very early._ ”

“ _And you think it was abandoned?_ ”

“ _There are no signs of battle here,_ ” Liara confirmed, trying hard not to study the lines about Javik’s eyes, the hollows of his cheeks. “ _We’re still waiting on the carbon dating for confirmation._ ”

“ _Bah, if I were there, I could read-_ “

But Javik had stopped short, and a large and painful lump had struck her throat immovable. The conversation ended not long after. 

Liara huffed into her helmet, not liking the heat that trailed the bottom of her eyes. 

It was an honour to assist in the recording and categorisation of extracted shards, dead or alive. Hit hard by numerous scandals involving ties to intelligence agencies, the Salarian Institute for Exo-Archaeological Research had been eager to take Liara on-board as a guest researcher. Sometimes having a famous name helped open doors.

So did having all the dirt on an organisation to secure an advantageous arrangement.

Regardless, Liara found her particular skillset in high demand. While the language algorithms she helped develop could assist the reading and recognition of the dead data, the protheans had been fond of heavily coding their information. Often it was quicker to simply translate the data organically.

Liara’s particular fluency at the task was noted and welcomed. A benefit of being Javik’s near constant companion and research partner for so long, she supposed, though Liara wondered if their shared mental contact had left a little of the other in each of them.

But the Goddess would keep such secrets hidden in her sleeves. 

Reaching her own small station, Liara eyed the stack of encased dead shards left for examination. 

“A small haul today?” Liara titled her head at the amber and cream salarian at the adjoining station. Her fingers hovered over the first glass case.

“Yes,” confirmed Doctor Gee’rak, wide eyes black through his helmet. “Much of the Section Four shards are cracked or fractured. Very disheartening.”

“Heartbreaking,” drawled Vaalsa, and Liara could practically hear the glower Sparti sent the medic’s way.

Liara hummed to herself, not marking the commandos as they set up position. The tent was long and crowded, and yet somehow they still managed to find spare spaces by which to disappear in.

With steady hands, Liara retrieved the first case from its receptacle, securing it in place over a lightbox so that the precious shard inside shone at the edges. Pressing the interface for the portable scanner, she watched the lights flicker before holding it over the shard.

Javik had always hated how menial so much of excavation work was. Especially when he could complete with a touch what took her colleagues so much time and fiddly processes to do. 

Often with inferior results; it had been clear that the Empire only catered to their own. No evidence had been uncovered of the sensory bio-implants that the protheans had supposedly required of all their subservient races, but Javik assured her of their existence. Liara could not fathom how else aliens could have ever assimilated so fully into the Empire.

He could be lying. A particular gleam always lit Javik’s eyes whenever one of his little tricks came to play and Liara had become adequate in spotting it. She had not seen it in a long while.

She moved the scanner up and over the shard several times, watching the orange gold line of the laser caress the smooth surface. The screen to her side flickered; layers upon layers of data and glyphs, the complicated matrix of prothean programming shuffled from script to script. 

“Interesting,” Liara murmured to herself. Even dead, prothean data still managed to be marvellous.

“Is it?” Vaalsa drawled, not looking up from her game of omni-cards.

Liara ignored her; the older asari liked to grumble and sniff, but had solidly refused to allow her on site without an armed escort. Captain Aanja’s second oversaw Liara’s safety with the attention to detail of a bird of prey, and if Vaalsa provided her with a verbal sounding board of neutral opinion, then she wouldn’t complain.

It had been surprising to discover how much her commandos had entrusted her safety to Javik; Vaalsa especially had seemed uneasy to learn he’d taken leave of their company.

Javik’s absence had created…holes in her life, in unforeseen, awkward ways.

“These don’t look like the usual maps of information; treatise and blueprints and the like.” Liara put down the handheld and pulled the screen closer to her field of view. “They’re more akin to recorded memories. Personal accounts and so forth, but the context isn’t right.”

“Something of interest, Doctor T’Soni?” Gee’rak’s long head bobbed in her peripheries. 

“Possibly,” she mused, making room for the salarian to view the screen. “Look at this layer of code underneath the descriptive glyphs. I’ve never seen this before.” 

Gee’rak squinted at the stratified codes, before glancing down at his omni-tool and up again.

“Fragmentary recognition from the translation algorithms,” confirmed the salarian. “Possibly a new media of information transferal?”

“Possibly.” Her pulse jumped at the thought. Liara flicked her fingers out, zooming in on one line of code that seemed to underlay the rest. “Javik, what do you-“

She bit her tongue hard, head snapping up to confirm her mistake a second too late. To the side she noted Sparti shift her stance. Other researchers bustled about through the rest of the tent without a pause.

Gee’rak tilted his head.

“Your prothean companion?” The salarian inquired, clipped and polite and entirely without concern. “Would he be willing to examine this find?”

Liara swallowed the pain of it, kept her hands still and sure on the screen. She was no maiden waiting forlorn in a pavilion, flower chains at her feet, for her lover to return. There had been a time before she’d known Javik, before she’d liked him. A time before Shepard even, where she had not needed companionship to feel complete and whole.

“I will certainly ask him,” she said evenly. “Though I already have a few ideas.”

The salarian nodded and moved away. Liara kept her shoulders straight, her breathing measured.

This was an important discovery; something new and entirely unexpected. It made her pulse skip and her mind fire with theories and possibilities, and she remembered how it had felt to revel in the simple discovery of it all. This had been her first passion, after all. Her first cause. 

She flagged the shard’s Taftopoíisi trinomial number for further study, jotting down her initial impressions and ideas notes. If there was a hollow ache under her ribs, a prickle of sorrow along her scalp and spine then no matter. There was work to be done. 

She did not mind doing it alone.

.

.

**101.**

“You know, my peevishness at you for not calling earlier is almost mitigated by this view.”

Javik paused mid step to look back at the boulder of a krogan trundling behind him up the winding, rock-strewn path. 

“I did not think a krogan so susceptible to such pointless romanticism,” he said [snidely], when Kirot Elpida failed to amend his statement with some useful information.

The onyx krogan glanced up [pale eyes like twin moons] from where he’d paused; both hands perched on his walking stick in patient repose. He was [as ever] as certain as a stone against the sea.

“Look around you,” Kirot urged, jerking his [craggy] chin toward the sunlit, sloping hills of Eden Prime. “Tell me what you see.”

Irritation curled over Javik’s tongue [reflexive] [still unwilling after all this time to listen]. What care had he for rocks and mountains? It was only another setting in which he might die.

“This is-“

“Shut up and do it.”

Javik’s mouth tightened [damnable, upstart krogan], fingers flexing for the weapons [a crutch, Kirot had accused] he’d had to leave behind. He was far too old [broken] to be scolded like a youngling.

[And yet].

Liara would have chided him for being rude [a heart twisted thought].

Setting his jaw, Javik tilted his head back to take in the wide horizon [drank in the scents and sounds that billowed on the soft breeze]. Green and gold painted the terrain, broken only by the silver of the lake and the gradual climb of [modest] mountains. To the east lay the lavender arcology towers that housed the majority of Eden Prime’s population. If he squinted, Javik could spy the monorails that fanned out of the city [a spider’s web]. 

The taupe moon hung bloated in the sky [clear of klaxons and cruelty]. Javik did not scan for [expectantly and with dread] the Reapers as once had been reflexive.

Well, not as often.

[Some ghosts lingered overlong].

“Low level mountains to the west,” he began, struggling to keep petulance from his tone [pathetic]. “Sparse forest, good for cover.”

Turning from the horizon, Javik raised a hand in gesture to their starting point. Kirot’s [sly] yellow eyes did not leave his face. 

“An artificial lake by a complex. It does not look military, but there is evidence of some kind of martial training on the grounds.” Javik pointed to the edges of the complex, ignoring the scrutiny of his companion [damn him]. “Four visible turrets, though there are likely more. Isolated, but not inaccessible from the nearest urban sprawl.”

Old Kirot nodded thoughtfully to himself [slow and solid]; his hooded eyes tracked Javik as a hunter did wounded prey. 

“Your assessment?” The gravel of his voice was unnervingly casual [periwinkle blue with composure] [a fissure against the unfilled air].

Javik snorted and turned away, half tempted to retreat from the wretched forced introspection that was sure to follow [oh it was coming]. But Kirot had dragged him out here [a place empty bar themselves] and Kirot had dragged him to a halt [a view empty of war]. Mayhap the grizzled krogan had something that would quieten the turmoil within his chest [a mind empty bar himself]. 

“A school, lightly defended.” He thought of the youths [refugees, survivors] who had watched him warily when their quarian arms-master had introduced him as a temporary assistant. Shepard’s [unsubtle] snicker at their irreverent curiosity. “Easy enough to invade if I did not know who ran it.” 

Javik looked down at Vinayaka Academy [haven, home and safe harbour] [forged by Shepard’s hands and Shepard’s grief]. He’d almost laughed [wept] when the Commander had first suggested it. What he had to teach had no room for hope or kindness [forgiveness].

These last two months had been a different kind of hardship [disconnect from what he knew of himself]. Longing [shame] and fury [pride] warred in him, even as he claimed to have some wisdom worth imparting. Damage and distress flared in fits and starts from under his pupils’ scents [a trauma he knew well], but that was not all that was wrote under their skin. 

Surveying the motley buildings [borrowed styles from planet to planet] from the side of a mountain made it look so small [frail]. Javik did not want to think of the Academy as a battleground.

“Still,” he began, hating [mechanically] the edge of fondness that threatened to rise [buried it with red scorn]. “It has a…serene feel about it.”

Two months on Eden Prime playing at teacher [as if he could be anything but a soldier] to the children of war [alone and abandoned] [but for Shepard] had felt like a dream. Javik was not certain he deserved it.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Kirot noted. 

“That is no forging ground.” A truth [but not all of it].

“No,” Kirot agreed. His gaze was far away [tender], and his lumpy hands played with the white-gold charms at his wrists [asari-made] [armed with adoration]. “It’s a garden.”

Trace pollen and insect matter registered within the soft wind that tugged at his skin. The choppy grassy that coated the slope was heavy with blossom and buzzing. Sparse clouds stretched over a [peaceful] clear sky. A piercing ache struck him from gut to throat.

From this outcrop, the rest of the world [galaxy] felt very far away.

On the Peltro Ria, Javik had stood atop a vista [red dirt and desert and an empty, empty sky] and put the barrel of a gun to his mouth every day to dare oblivion.

A garden. It seemed absurd; idealistic and naïve. How many of his own people had dreamed [midst death and the Reaper’s light] of the same in his own cycle?

“You are trying to show that my perspective is wrong,” Javik said at last [tasted his own discontent]. “Skewed.”

Kirot hefted a [piqued] sigh and started again up the trail path [mauve salt trailing at his plates]. Javik watched the easy sway of his hump as the krogan trundled past him.

“I’m saying that you are still living like a soldier for a war that ended a long time ago!” The gravel [boom] of his voice bounced off the outcrop like a thunderstorm.

“I know that,” Javik snapped. As if the galaxy could ever forget what Shepard had wrought [Avatar of Victory] [oh how they sang her triumph]. 

“Do you?” The krogan threw a pitying glance over his hunched shoulder [inspired indignity and shame]. “The war I was referring to was your own.”

Javik stilled.

[You are a soldier].

The words rattled about his head. Kirot continued on [unconcerned and calculating], and Javik wondered [gut sick and roiling] why his feet had turned to iridium. It should not have been any kind of revelation [was not, no]; he knew his time and place [how severed from it he was]. The Reaper War was over [this cycle free] and Javik’s vengeance was done.

He knew that [this was not his cycle].

[In his cycle, she would be not much more than a slave].

Old Kirot barked a bitter laugh, startling Javik from his [pained] reverie.

“The way you walk, talk. Assess each person’s worth and potential threat,” his caretaker called out to him [from across a void]. “Every action measured against your own cycle.”

If [sour, floral] pain purpled Kirot’s words, Javik ignored it [the understanding layered there]. Rage was so much easier [familiar].

“Should it not be?” Javik snarled, throat hot and eyes burning. “That was my people, my empire! I will not cast them aside for the comfort of others!”

Bad enough that Shepard called [ordered] him away to her sanctuary of broken things. Bad enough that Javik had called [wished] the krogan out here to fix his tattered sense of self. Bad enough that he was [exposed] on open terrain with no gun [to wield] and only light armour to shield him.

Bad enough that he had gone to Liara in a moment of weakness [and begged], and he had hurt her. Used her [undeserved] affection for him as a weapon against his own [weakness] turmoil.

“You done?” Kirot’s pale gaze was unflinching [unnerving] [unimpressed]. His thumb traced the edge of his stick.

Javik spat [cursed himself]. Realised he had stalked right up the path [eyes flushed and crimson licking at his temper] as if to start a brawl.

“Your problem,” Kirot continued after a pause, thumping the [burnished] end of his walking aid into Javik’s chest [hard], “is that you hide behind those things and pretend nothing but your old grief matters.”

The ground given [half a step] at that pointed strike felt like a retreat.

“I am no coward.” Javik fought the urge to rub at [the ache in] his chest.

“No?” Challenge [bright and tart and alive] glittered in the krogan’s pale eyes. “How do you feel about the asari?”

Shoulders back, spine straight, Javik refused to walk into whatever trap the old wretch was crafting.

“They are far more short-sighted than they believe themselves to be.” He hitched his head back [proud and peerless] and sniffed.

Kirot merely thumped his chest again [aim true and ungentle], and [for the glory of the Empire] Javik could not fathom why he had allowed it.

“I meant your asari.” The krogan’s grin was not a comforting one.

“I do not own an asari.” 

“Does she own you then?”

Javik looked away, throat stuck with too many uncomfortable truths. Three birds spiralled in the sky, shrill calls alight on the wind. But the silence was not enough of an answer for Kirot [was not done poking holes]. 

“Your dead friend, did he die well?” Kirot rested both heavy hands on his stick [a promise]. “Gun in hand, blood-rage in his eyes and laughing?”

It had been quiet, for all the gunfire [Lladunn] and cries [Synnel]. Zaeed’s rasp had not rung with defiance or violence, and Javik had cursed this cycle’s [painfully] primitive technology that he could not taste [ease] his friend’s last fear.

“No.” The admission almost hurt. Mayhap it would have been easier not to know [a cold report on a screen]. Javik pressed his palms to his sternum [to hold in the storm]; he did not want this introspection, this emotion that clawed at his insides.

“Would you have found it easier if he had?” Kirot pushed on, relentless.

Zaeed’s last sigh had been soft [fond] [sad].

Liara had been fraught [frightened for what it would bring].

“His last act-” Javik did not know why it was important. “Massani called me.”

Unease prickled his skin, ran an itch under his chitin, and the sky yawned [endless] above them [and after that the stars]. Javik shook out his arms, gnashed his teeth and stalked a pace away [enough was enough] before halting.

“To say goodbye,” finished Kirot, voice as deep and unfathomable as a planet’s core.

“We did not need goodbyes in my cycle.” The words felt clipped [compared to the tumult under his skin], and there was no one there to reach for. “We all knew that death could come at any moment. Zaeed knew that too.”

“And,” The krogan’s footfalls were hefty and unsubtle. The massive hand [old memory and emotion lending compassion] placed on Javik’s shoulder, an anchor. “Still he took the time.”

Hot, salt-sting at all four eyes, and Javik’s head dipped. He did not weep [did not need to] [did not want] [had lost too much to mark it now].

He did not weep.

.

.

**102.**

Her quarters on Karumto were not ideal, even for a small excavation site on an unstable planet in the bottom end of the Attican Traverse.

Especially when the said excavation was the brain-child of an organization plagued by lingering rumours and scandal. The salarian Institute for Exo-Archaeological Research lacked many of the luxuries enjoyed by other archaeological set-ups. However, most of those were funded by prominent asari foundations, and Liara was trying to keep a low profile.

So, she worked with what she had. 

Currently, that was a small desk squeezed into the pre-fab dorm Liara shared with Vaalsa, rigged with the best approximation of her workbench. Karumto’s atmosphere was so volatile, all access to the research labs was restricted to daylight hours. 

Glyph bobbed at Liara’s elbow, running each and every new glyph and symbol against every bit of prothean language analysis that the extranet could filter. Screens of varying shape, size and quality were hooked up on unsteady stands, and she had a small, portable projector to light the wall behind her for small detail work.

Currently, it was propped on the corner of her desk, projecting a fuzzy, holographic approximation of Javik’s best scowl.

“I have come to the conclusion that your hypothesis are not entirely implausible,” came his grudging admission.

Liara arched her brows, ignoring the amused snort that sounded from Vaalsa’s bunk.

“How very kind of you to concede such a thing,” she replied, squinting at the layer of narrative code she was trying to extract from the dormant shard. Three weeks work and still she’d only scratched the surface.

“It is not a concession,” he said, tone clipped and careful. “Merely recognition of the most likely conclusion.”

It was not the same as having him beside her. Vaalsa and Sparti were her commandos and her comrades, but they held little wonder for the mysteries of the past. 

Splaying her fingertips over the green-lit lines of symbols, Liara zoomed into a particular glyph. Turning the three-dimensional shape over and over, she hummed at the multi-faceted meaning it possibly lent to the surrounding data. Watched for how the geometric edges aligned with its neighbours.

“Even if it is one you dislike?”

“We did not indulge in the fanciful fables this cycle is so fond of,” Javik sniffed. From the corner of her eye she watched his lingering gaze skirt away. 

Star-systems apart, and all their bickering rang thin; a performance that held them together. Javik was a force of reckoning, a well-spring of insight and a piercing headache all at once, but here, on the holo-vid, he seemed just very far away.

And Javik was doing well on Eden Prime. Shepard gave her such earnest assurances. Told her the things Javik would brush carelessly over. Liara had promised to give him space, but a small, poisoned hook had torn at her heart to hear how well he did without her.

How better off her was without her.

Sometimes she was still angry at him for what happened on Aite. Mostly she was just sad.

Liara placed both palms on the desk and turned to the projection.

“Don’t you want to know what your ancestors thought about themselves?” This quarrel was not a new one. “You told me yourself this data extensively referenced the Metacon War.”

A look of real displeasure crossed Javik’s face.

“I already know,” came his surly reply. “With the Echo Shards, we read the direct remembering of our ancestors.” 

All four of his eyes narrowed as the hologram image fluttered. Liara waited, scrolled through the recovered data on another screen. What was interesting was how her old translation algorithms struggled with the new find, as if it lacked the contextual understanding of a foreign idiom. She was beginning to suspect it was an understanding that Javik also lacked.

Or perhaps scientific antagonism was all they had left between them.

“What you suggest is,” his mouth twitched in displeasure, “is indulgent, absurd fictional reimaginings suited only to this cycle!”

A sigh escaped her, left her chest feeling hollow, and Liara leant back in her chair. The temperature was creeping up again; likely the on-site accommodation’s environmental controls had glitched.

“There are thousands of years of prothean history unaccounted for,” Liara gently reminded him, palms light against her forearms. “Your culture was not always a static one.”

The expected objection did not come. His eyes cast down, scowl still apparent but now lined with begrudging consideration. Even through the holo-vid, Liara knew that look.

“You found something.” She leaned forward, eyes alight.

Javik pressed his lips together and shook his head. She saw his hand flicker on the edges of the projection as a message pinged on her omni-tool.

“Javik?” Liara brought up the file on of the larger screens.

“It seems absurd,” came Javik’s low grumble. 

“You said that already.”

“Make of it what you will.”

It was a fragment of the data she had sent him, criss-crossed and layered like the biotic puzzles of her youth. The text shifted around itself, and her pulse throbbed painfully at her temple. 

“It’s-” Liara began, and paused. She squinted and leant closer at the data. “Glyph, project received file R.Karumto3527.xx into the room’s centre.” 

She spun in her chair as the info-drone moved to accommodate her instructions. Glowing sigils burned to life, bright and beautiful in the unfathomable tapestry they wove. Only, it was no longer the static maze of a dead shard.

“Javik,” Liara breathed, “you brought it back online.”

“Of course I did,” he scoffed. “Watch.”

And, somehow, the data interlaced about itself and Liara could see. Watched as it fit together like a jigsaw puzzle or a dance. Although Liara lacked the sensory organs needed to fully experience the shard as a prothean would, it was not just white-noise. She had created the algorithms that had helped translate the Charon Relay. Had touched minds with Javik, known him, heard him sing the canticles of the rostrum. It was enough for her to see the shape of it. 

Underneath the blur, Liara heard the edges of a song.

“That sequence denotes honour and…an expression of earnestness?” She pulled out a data-pad and brought up the old transcripts of her work on Operation Osiris and skimmed through it. “But not as adulation. And those, I don’t recognise them. They’re similar to the symbols of singularity, woven into purpose. 

Soft projections hovered in the room, curious enough to prompt Vaalsa to poke her head over the edge of the top bunk. The old matron raised a brow, and propped herself up on one elbow to better watch the display.

“That term was not favoured in the Empire’s lexicon.” Javik’s low voice again caught her attention, and Liara turned back to watch a muscle in his jaw clench. “Not in my time. I can read it well enough, though.”

He did not look angry, not really, but there was a stiffness in the way Javik carried himself. A discomfort in his expression and Liara dearly wished she could reach out to touch his hand. Ease away some the trouble that plagued him.

“It changes the context of the script,” continued Javik. “It is prevalent in all the data you sent me.”

“The narrative layer.” Liara was torn between watching him and reading the live data.

Prothean was all about intent, after all.

“It is an ode. To an absent partner.”

Liara blinked, unsure at the dip in Javik’s cadence. At the squeeze of her own throat. 

“During the Metacon War?” She watched the sigils denoting camaraderie and care, stylised compared to the script familiar to her. The edges faded. “What makes it any different to the canticles espousing the might of the Prothean Empire?”

She thought she knew.

“Because it is a personal remembrance of an individual,” Javik pursed his lips as his image flickered, “and an emotional one.” 

A stillness stole into Liara’s bearing. If he were here, Javik would not have missed the falter in her breath, or the jumble of her heart. She breathed deep through her nose and ignored the prickle at her crest. 

It made sense; the society that had borne Javik had been a brutal one. Honour was found in victory, nothing more, and sentiment was useful only insofar as it inspired strength. Never mind the individual, all that mattered was the drive of the empire. History was a warning, not a muse for tragedy or hope; all bound to the philosophy of the Cosmic Imperative that Javik lived by.

But that was not all they had ever been. Maybe, once, the protheans had been not unlike the noble scholars her youthful ideals had imagined. 

“So,” Liara began slowly, stilted and circumspect. “This data, the recollection it records, has been layered with an emotional projection?”

The soft light of the projection twisted, glyphs of distance and daring sliding side by side and behind one another. Liara rubbed her eyes, tired and weary even as her brain processed how this new information would change how they handled prothean information. 

“Yes.” Javik exhaled, restlessness audible through the flawed connection. 

If she looked straight ahead, Liara might believe he was just behind her. Her fingers pressed into the flesh of her arms. 

“Hear now this sad cry.” His words ran strong and clear, making her start. Liara turned, wide eyed to the holo-vid. She recognised the declaration of his tone. “This wretched cry. Do not go into the dead cities to question the past, for the dead cannot forgive.”

She swivelled her chair around to face him fully. Javik eyelids fluttered, low and hooded away. The corner of his mouth dipped.

“Fear enters the heart of they who do not know their duty,” Javik continued. “But duty bound you to the stars and me to the sea. Do not seek to defy duty; each Avatar has their place in the sky.”

It was an uneven translation; the best approximation of a four dimensional object printed onto card.

It was beautiful.

“And oh hear this wretched cry,” and here, Javik’s voice faltered, “for duty held me down and bore you up until you burned brighter than Viralka’s sun. Oh hear this cry for the injustice of duty that let you die.”

“Javik,” Liara began, and stopped. The net of her thoughts snared on the prothean; all that she knew to be true of him. That he had just recited to her verse that possibly predated him by thousands of years. It tangled her fingers together as she tried to breathe through the sudden tightness of her chest. 

“It sounds like the lament of Gathimero for Oneiro,” a rough burr of a voice broke the quiet, and Liara snapped around to where Vaalsa reclined on her bunk. Arms crossed, the dark violet asari sighed and continued to stare at the ceiling. “You know the one, Little Mother. They teach it to all the girls in school.”

Javik grunted. 

“Of course it does,” he scoffed, but it sounded more like the shattering of glass. “Your asari epics are full of such sentimental carrying on.”

“I’m charmed to know you’ve read them,” Vaalsa shot back, unruffled by the prothean’s jab.

They all fell to silence again, uncomfortable enough that left Liara’s throat tight. Gathimero was an old asari mythic hero; a rebel and a queen who’d saved her land from an evil after it had consumed her wife. Much more than that, Liara could not recall, but something about the tale had spoken through to her medic. Something that Vaalsa had recognised in the ode of a long dead prothean. 

She wanted to place a hand over her chest, to hold still the thunder there. Or perhaps feed it more rain.

Why that fragment? Why that sentiment? Oh, she could go mad trying to fit all the pieces in place.

“Liara?”

“Hm?”

He was studying her closely. Or perhaps she was reaching for something that was not there.

“I-” The pause Javik took told Liara that he’d asked a question, and she had not heard it. He shook himself, let the bare hint of teeth show. “Never mind, it was nothing.”

Liara opened her mouth in protest, only to close it without a sound passing her lips. There were some things she would not ask for. Did not want unless they were offered freely.

“Alright,” she said. The single word felt like a stone sunk in dark water. “Well. Perhaps we should call it a night then.”

“Perhaps.” The projection wavered, as Javik seemed to waver. Enough to almost be a moment. Not enough to mean anything, and he nodded once before signing off without another word.

Damn her foolish, hopeful indigo heart.

Sighing, Liara glanced once at the live data still hovering in the middle of the room. That particular riddle would have to keep until morning. She bid Glyph to switch off her clattered workbench, and pushed back her chair.

In the dark, she paused. Tried not to think how different that conversation would have gone if it had been in person. Blinked rapidly whilst seeing nothing.

“Little Mother,” Vaalsa exhaled, sorry and unsurprised as the shape of her head and shoulder shifted. 

“It’s nothing, Vaalsa,” Liara said wetly. Hands tight as she made herself get up and move to her own bed. “I’m sorry for keeping you up.”

_Oh hear this cry-_

But she did not know if the cry was his, or hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we continue the pattern of ignoring your feelings until your feelings ignore YOU [and ruin your life]. I wasn't originally going to have Javik and Liara part ways, but after how intense the past couple of chapters have been, it seemed the natural course to take. Cause, you know, they are each of them a little self aware.
> 
> But yeah, tone was hard for this chapter. Grief is painful and hard and messy, and I'm sorry if this was a bit bleak. Hence why it took so long. 
> 
> ALso Kirot's character has become a lot more like Ian Mcshane in my head. Make of that what you will. Enjoy, and thank you for sticking by this fic!
> 
>  
> 
> Glossery:
> 
> Atamna: Athame high priestesses  
> Agbei: Prothean midwives.  
> Arthana: Thessia’s capital city. Where the Temple of Athme was located.  
> Chahhu: Asari biotic dance routine.  
> Fyaer: Thessian thorned flower.  
> Kamada: Prothean word for the imperial court.   
> Ke Agbon: Prothean birthing centres.  
> Maalume: Prothean overseers/moral managers.  
> Marbar Ya: Prothean word for the carers of young.  
> Shihiid: Martyr   
> Soaxiib: Prothean word for comrade, typically referring to experienced, familiar military teams.  
> Kamen: Quarian word for object


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Believe this,” he said, breath ghosting her skin. “If personal desire could exchange one time for another, we two would never have reached this moment.”

.

.

**103.**

His knuckles popped where he held his rifle.

Javik stared at them [skin thin] [pads calloused and cracked with wear], studiously ignoring the unsteady leap of his hearts. He blinked, set his mind to welcome the [old soldier’s] routine of disassembling and cleaning his rifle. Its cool metal tang was as familiar to him as his own skin.

Still, Javik made no motion to begin. Instead, he set his rifle on the table, stood up, and then proceeded to sit back down.

[Ridiculous]. 

The smell of gun-oil [fermented fruit and aniseed] pressed against his sinuses; the cleaning kit lay out in careful precision next to his [treasurable] weapon. Javik reached for the jar, intent on replacing the cap [everything had a place] before pausing. 

He withdrew his hands and placed them on his lap.

Grinding his back teeth, Javik brought up his omni-tool and opened Liara’s message. Again. 

A cold fist had seized his lungs when the encrypted message had first come through; Liara reserved that particular channel for the most sensitive of correspondence.

_Javik,_

_Do not be alarmed, but you should know that Captain Aanja finally caught her prey. We have confirmation that Stako and the Arrow are dead, however Irana D’Vella managed to slip away in a shuttle during the battle. I have contacted Feron to keep a watch over young cousin Thrasyes, but I do not think there is much chance she will be further embroiled in Lucen’s Eyes._

_Most likely D’Vella has slunk back to her grandmother to lick her wounds. I’ve done what I can to make sure none of this storm reaches Vinayaka Academy. Nevertheless, caution would be prudent for the time being._

_Stay safe,_

_Liara_

He should delete the message [without pause]. Burn it from his omni-tool like a traitor. It was nothing but numbers and light [held no trace of her warmth and wellness], and yet again and again Javik came back to it [her words]. Kept checking it like a primitive charm.

Would Liara call the good captain back to her side? He hoped so; Aanja was a formidable warrior [a fierce vanguard] and surprisingly sly in her strategy. That was why Liara had trusted her with a mission of loose parameters and a protracted timetable. No doubt it would be why she [Aanja] would eventually be sent back out on another.

It was a clever use of resources. Javik recognised that. He just wished Liara’s own guard wasn’t left so spread thin because of it.

[He should be there] [to shore up the storm-wall].

Dust motes floated in the placid afternoon sunlight. Calm, quiet and all manner of qualities that felt foreign to him still [after all this time].

What would Feron glean from Thrasyes’ reaction to the news her cousin was on the run? Illium seemed so far away, and mayhap Liara had some scheme brewing regarding her supposed admirer. At least at the University it was easy to keep watch on the youngest D’Vella. 

Still. Letting the drell recruit the little spy had been an ill-advised deception so long as they expected anything but betrayal.

[Who now watched her back?]

Javik stood. Liara’s resources were not insignificant, either as herself or the Shadow Broker. Still, she was a heart divided. He had not missed the joy the excavations on Karumto had inspired [had envied it].

Being by her side meant Javik could protect her. Being by her side made him a beacon by which to find her by.

And yet, Liara had not needed to write him.

[Fool] [it was a warning] [not an invitation].

Mouth thin and eyes sharp, Javik packed away his cleaning kit and shouldered his rifle. He did not let his throat hum or his hands tremble as he honed his focus. 

“Has anyone ever mentioned that you have it a talent for melodrama?”

Javik frowned, brought still at the threshold of Commander Shepard’s office. 

The human merely looked at him over her nose, one [prosthetic] leg propped up on a stool as she minimised the projections floating around her desk. No elaboration of the Commander’s assertion seemed forthcoming [he’d only declared his intent to be at Liara’s side], so Javik concluded she was awaiting an answer.

“No.”

That elicited a small snort as Shepard eased back in her chair, spinning a stylus in the fingers of her remaining [organic] hand. The scars kissing her mouth twitched [tangerine tartness dropped with maroon flickered under her jaw].

“You’re here under your own volition, Javik,” Shepard rasped [voice ever rough and scarred]. “If you wish to leave I will not stop you.”

He wavered at the lack of resistance [that even fall of rain]. 

“I-…Yes.” The line of his back stood straight, and Javik cleared his throat [ignored the instinct to click his heels]. “I did not wish to…inconvenience your education facility.”

“Of course,” Shepard agreed, her dark amber eye crinkled at the edges [mirth dotted her lashes]. “Despite your unusual teaching practises, we’ll be sad to see you go. Garrus will miss your rivalry.”

The flutter of soft fire-mist hung at the crook of Shepard’s neck [regret, fond acceptance]. She shifted in her seat, and Javik pretended not to note the flash of pain that traced her [human] expression. Mechanisms whirred and ceramic fingers pressed into the [taut] muscle of her thigh.

“Well. Yes,” he said instead, teeth caught on his tongue [on the urge to banish the sentiment]. “I must express my appreciation for involving me in the teaching of younglings. It has been…enlightening.”

“I’m glad,” murmured Shepard, easing back in her chair after a moment. Her sharp gaze flicked to his, before turning toward the wide office window. “So, what dire thing has you so riled? Should I be worried?”

She’d said it so casually, Javik almost missed the echo of worry that slid [grey and stark] under the Commander’s scent.

“I…” Uncertainty held him quiet; Javik found himself reluctant to divulge information without Liara’s acquiescence. “Nothing that need concern you.”

Shepard’s remaining brow rose. The prickle of a heat traced his cheeks.

“But enough to have you burning up eezo to get to her side?” The stone slide of her [human] voice was amused [glinted yellow at her cheeks].

Javik faltered [again]. 

“What does Kirot think of this?” Shepard asked when he did not respond. “You haven’t asked Kirot.”

Mouth pressed to a thin line, Javik again declined her an answer. He indeed had not spoken to Kirot about returning to Liara’s side, though they had spoken of her at great length. Or, rather, the meddlesome krogan spouted conjecture and smirked when he supposed his arrows had met a tender mark. 

There was nothing tender in him [he was a soldier] [the barest remnant of a person]. 

Javik had no intention of calling up the krogan to discuss his [long burnt and buried] feelings. He knew his purpose.

Shepard eyed him solemnly from behind her desk [as if she knew it too].

.

.

**104.**

Heat beat down upon her pebbled skin from under a clear sky, her crest and nose were hot from it. Salt came with the crashing of waves; crystal blue all the way to the clear horizon.

Well, almost clear. Liara studied the giant abomination of a biomechanical skeleton that loomed over the bay, half sunk in ocean water and tilted like a rum-drunk sailor. 

The horror of the Dreadnought still curled disquiet in her heart, but there was no denying the impotency of the thing that had once been a Reaper. White bird droppings coated its once immaculate shell, and small barnacles crept up from the water’s edge. A group of humans, having swum out to the awful thing, now clambered up to jump off into the water to the hoots and shouts of their companions.

At her side, Shepard smiled her razor grin and patted where Liara’s arm hooked over her own. 

“There’s a reason the krogan ambassador prefers the Southern Hemisphere,” she mused.

Liara bit her tongue and shook her head; her lecture at the Greater University of Western Australia had been well received, but this particular part of the human homeworld seemed rambunctious even for Earth.

“You seem more at ease here,” Shepard said suddenly, “I’m glad.” 

“Do I?” Liara shook her head and smiled as Shepard leaned into her. It was nice to have her close, if only for a small while. Liara had sorely felt the distance between them these past months. “Things have been quiet, relatively. I almost feel like a real academic again.”

“A real academic?”

Liara blushed.

“Without the side business in espionage,” she elaborated.

“Ah,” said Shepard, a glint in her eye. “You never did like taking the easy option.”

“I wonder where I learnt that from?”

Shepard laughed gloriously, white teeth flashing with mirth. An old, flickering flame warmed Liara’s heart at the sound; the years had not completely stolen them both of humour. Sand crunched beneath their shoes as the soft tide lapped at the shore. 

“You can’t blame all your bad habits on me.”

“Oh,” Liara graciously inclined her head, “I attribute some of my good ones to you too.”

“That’s a relief,” Shepard exclaimed. With her good hand, she adjusted the traditional, sea-green garment draped over one shoulder and looped to tie at the waist. “Though that doesn’t explain your inexplicable taste in snarky veterans with chips on their shoulders.”

Heat flared in her cheeks, and Liara bit back the flare of embarrassment that fleetingly struck down her crest. Of course Shepard knew; Shepard never missed an inch.

“I must just have a type,” Liara replied primly.

“You and me both,” she drawled in that particular way humans could. “Speaking of-”

There was enough pointed amusement in Shepard’s voice to draw Liara’s attention, following her friend’s deliberate gaze to the bulky figure trudging up the shore. A fully armoured figure that drew any number of interested and alarmed stares from the beach-makers. 

If her heart skipped a beat, well, Liara would not indulge it. Any daydreams of a sentimental reunion had quickly been put to rest. Ten days they had spent on Earth, and Javik had barely deigned to speak to her. She wondered why he’d even come.

“Commander,” Javik greeted upon his approach. “Doctor T’Soni.”

Well, at least he wasn’t referring to her as the asari.

“Perfect timing, Javik,” Shepard announced, unhooking her arm from Liara’s with a fond pat. “I was beginning to feel weary.”

“Are you alright?” Liara asked, though more suspicion than concern tickled her thoughts. Shepard’s quick wink did not allay her misgivings.

“I’ll be fine here a moment. Please, Javik, would you accompany Liara in my absence?” It was said with such an absence of guile or game that Liara had to choke back a laugh. Javik merely nodded, ever serious, as Shepard waved them off.

“If Garrus asks, tell him it’s Stage One in my mission to teach him to swim,” she called behind them.

“If you don’t return in an hour, I’ll tell him you decided to jump off the Reaper,” Liara warned over her shoulder as Commander Shepard delicately dipped her toes in the water. 

“Maybe I will!”

Well, Shepard was never one to let the last word go.

The silent prothean at her side sniffed, his full presence was as large and impervious as Liara had ever known him to be.

Neither of them spoke immediately, both content to walk alongside the lapping waves. Her skin was sun-warm, almost tender on her nose and crest and it felt so strange to simply stroll in silence. To simply be without noise and danger and stress. Liara knotted her fingers together and then untangled them.

“You spoke very well today,” Javik said suddenly. “With a great authority and presence.”

“My thanks,” she answered, blinking at the compliment. “It was an enjoyable change of pace.”

“To?”

“Oh,” Liara lifted her hand and twisted her hand in an explanatory gesture, “you know.”

Stupid. She bit the inside of her cheek and looked again to the horizon.

“To our expedition,” Javik finished, voice flanging with imperious disapproval.

Or was it disappointment? 

Liara turned her head sharply; saw the tight flare beneath his eyes, the reluctant bend of his mouth. A painful thread pulled at her heart, and she found herself knotting her fingers again. She wanted so many things. 

She ought to know better.

“For a while there it felt more like a war zone,” Liara confessed, picking at the nail of her thumb.

There was a very noticeable pause before Javik responded.

“And more recently?”

A hitch held her throat shut, because without Javik it had been a different mission. Slipping under the radar in the obscure places of the galaxy was much simpler without the last known survivor of an ancient alien race. There were more recon missions, more infiltrations, more undisturbed investigations on dig-sites.

Less fire-fights.

Less death.

And through it all, Aanja in her ear and Vaalsa and Sparti at her back. Feron, feeding her all the intel that her filters missed. Her father, worrying from far away.

Javik-

Liara shook her head.

“It has been a different change of pace.” That was all she would admit to. Liara wasn’t sure she had anything else to offer him.

It was very confusing to have him at once so near and impossibly far away. Different from any holo-vid or message. 

_What did you expect?_ Javik had told her. _That I would be proud of lusting over an asari? That I would glory in it?_

She swallowed down the amendment that threatened to light off her tongue. Tender sentiment had it place and purpose, but this was not a wall that she would breach first.

Posture straight, Liara lifted her chin to emulate some of the collected grace her mother had always exuded. The pride.

Javik’s footsteps came to a crunching halt.

“Liara, I-,” Javik began when she turned in answer. “I regret my behaviour to you, that night on Aite.”

He stood to attention, as ever, golden eyes set steadily forward beneath a carefully even blink. Liara resisted the urge to chew her lip, letting her own expression rest as bland and neutral as reason would allow. Not that it was likely to fool Javik, of all people.

The ocean murmured at their feet.

“That,” the words felt tart and sharp in her mouth, “was dangerously close to, and yet not quite an apology.”

“I am sorry,” Javik said quickly, and then had the temerity to look embarrassed. “You did not deserve my venom and spite for denying a foolish and ill-thought out demand.” 

Her ribs felt far too tight for this moment.

“No, I did not.” Liara sighed then and felt all her posture melt away against the flame of raw truth. “I don’t want to keep hurting myself on you, Javik.”

He stiffened, like a soldier under reprimand, and that only served to shift her emotion cross.

“I understand.” 

“Do you?” She took half a step forward, peering up at Javik and his well-worn mask. His breath was even and his eyes did not flinch away from her scrutiny. 

Her fingers twitched, alongside the impulse to reach up to him. Wipe away the long-suffered stoniness that had held Javik together for untold years. To pull at his composure and read there what Javik truly held at bay. 

What image of herself would Liara find there; a primitive fool, an equal or just an oddity?

The gleam of teeth peeked through Javik’s grimace.

“I would not burden you unduly with my failings,” he began, almost forceful with each enunciated word. “But neither will I abandon what’s left that makes me Prothean. I cannot.”

That, she had already known.

“I hear you,” Liara said, bitter, and moved to walk away.

Javik grabbed her arm. The shock of it felt like lightning between them, sharp points of electricity piercing a veil enough to give them both pause.

There was so much there [there always had been] [even when drowning in his own sorrow], like a broken dam feeding the parched land at it’s foot. She [he] had ached at the absence of him [her] [together].

“Do not misunderstand me,” Javik’s eyes were bright and fierce. “I know what weapon the Empire, the War, forged of me. I cannot unmake that part of myself, no matter the desire.” 

She knew [yes], and yet her pulse leapt at the ardour that rang under his skin [yes]. 

Slowly, Javik slid his hand from its grip on her wrist down to meet her palm. Liara inhaled through her teeth and allowed their fingers to intertwine. 

“But it is not all I could be.” Each word was wrested with desperate intensity, as if it were a battle just for Javik to speak. “All I…might want to be.”

A small heat ran up her spine and belly at the admission, her own fingers flexed into his. Liara doubted she could let go even if she wished it. She heard his soft halting intake of breath, the nervous rolling of his lips.

“Javik,” Liara began, heart in her throat.

“Please do not send me from your side.” The burr of Javik’s voice was rough with uncertainty.

[I can only offer what I am].

She understood.

.

.

**105.**

“Would you look at that view,” Liara exclaimed, setting her fingers lightly on the railing that lined the uncovered sky-dome [sky-blue sound swelled over her cheeks and chest]. “I forgot how beautiful it was.”

He did not watch the bump of her knuckles, or the scope of her eyes wide with wonder. [No] Javik averted his eyes to the dark sky above. Beyond the distant line of Mars’ red horizon where Earth sat ripe and round and ready [blue and beautiful].

It almost looked whole. Never mind the scars of Reaper invasion that over a decade of recovery could not completely heal; such things were marks of honour [survival] [strength]. Javik had watched planets die [burnt husks flashing fire and fog] [nothing, nothing, nothing]. That particular lump of rock and water was alive still. Of that, Javik was certain.

The human beside them sighed wistfully and paused beside Liara.

“I never get tired of the sight of it,” Doctor Constance Liu Mau agreed [grey in her bob of hair] [joy lines around her eyes and mouth], pushing up at her glasses with a short finger.

“Even just seeing it there is a comfort.” 

“Yes,” laughed Liara, and Javik had to catch himself from studying her expression. “A much better backdrop than on Osiris Station.” 

Javik grunted. The two of them indulged their reminiscences, and he sought to shake off the [false] impression that he had walked these halls before. So much of the original [prothean] structure had survived intact [filled now with primitives grasping at greatness].

[An ungenerous thought].

“And better company,” the human’s eyes flicked [almost slyly] to the space between them, before winking conspiratorially. “But I won’t hold that against you.” 

Colour stained Liara’s cheeks [a curious thing], but he did not [bother to] remark on it. Mau saw it too, but did not catch his own observation [though she looked for it]. Prothean periphery vision gave Javik such advantage over these younger races.

“That was a…trying time.” Despite her attempt at nonchalance, shame traced though Liara’s words [thickened her scent].

And with a clarity that shook him, Javik recalled the taut, tangled knot of spite and grief she [he] [they] had been in the aftermath of the war. Angered [frightened] by his own [despair] aimlessness, he’d almost instantly regretted agreeing to accompany Liara to that [ramshackle] wreck of a research station circling a dead Mass Relay. 

The months that followed had been fraught, and they had fought almost daily [to keep each other sane] [or angry]. At times, he had hated Liara for holding out a hand to offer purpose [to a drunk and despairing soldier] in fixing Charon Relay.

Even now, Javik did not know [truly] why he’d reached out and grasped it.

Mau let out an amused snort.

“I was surprised to hear you two were working together again,” admitted the particle-physicist. “There was a bet on Osiris on who would snap and murder the other first.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Javik folded his arms behind his back [let the edge of his teeth show]. And then, because Liara looked so shockingly ruffled, he added. “Surely the odds were on the asari.”

A bark of laughter [warm and ripe] escaped the plump human female.

“Excuse me?” Liara’s scowl was magnificent.

“Have you met you?” Mau asked, wiping her eyes. Javik sniffed imperiously. “Someone won a pretty penny when you left. But the rumours!”

An audibly pained groan sounded from Liara [cadmium and chartreuse pillowing from her jaw], and the asari dropped her head to her hands. She did not seem overwhelmingly distressed [no rigid line to her shoulders], so Javik retained his position by the railing [remained entertained]. 

[Would his aid be welcome if she were in need?]

What little satisfaction he’d gleaned from the exchange fell away.

Even if Liara had been unsettled [unnerved and unsteady], what right had Javik to offer comfort? Was that something Liara would still accept [could even receive] from him? The sourness felt thorny against Javik’s sense-nodes [damn the dark and purple bent of his mind].

Mau blinked though, and pulled back her mirth to set an awkward hand on Liara’s elbow.

“I apologise. Perhaps that was rude of me,” she said, black eyes shined with concern. “My wife always says I need to think before I speak.”

“No,” Liara sighed, and ran a palm over her flushed crest. “I suppose it was not entirely unwarranted.”

“You did throw a man across the mess hall.” Mau patted her arm consolingly [overly familiar] [laced with opal friendliness despite]. “Even if he did have it coming.”

“I did, didn’t I?”

Javik frowned [could not quite parse together the recollection].

“It was quite spectacular,” chirped Mau. The human caught Javik’s stare and coughed into her hand [embarrassed and aware]. “Still, it is a pleasure to have you both here. Mars tends to be a little…overlooked when it comes to the greater galactic scientific community.” 

A small [familiar] furrow appeared in Liara’s brow. Javik caught himself leaning forward so as to [foolishly, childishly] get a better view of her face. They had not been apart so long that he must jealously study each twitch and tremor of her expression [no, of course not].

Mau continued down the walkway, motioning them to follow.

“This Mars facility is seen as something of a stepping point for Commander Shepard,” she explained as they followed. “Made it a little unpopular with the asari backed universities. Especially in light of the Razing of Thessia.”

“Oh.” Liara was frowning now; he could tell by the cadence of her exclamation [violet and green shimmered over her shoulder blades].

“Asari like to hold grudges,” Javik said grimly [thinking of stagnate water and rotting foundations]. “The older the nastier.”

The look Liara shot him was not pleased, but she did not comment [object] on [the truth of] it.

“Well, that won’t do at all,” she said [instead] to Mau. It was the voice that sounded when she was strategizing. “I have contacts with smaller, outlier organisations with good reputations and just enough obscurity to not mind curling a few crests.” 

It was what she did best; optimising resources and making connections. No doubt Liara had a particular organisation in mind already. Likely not associated with the University of Metharme; it never did to sink all of one’s odds on a single gamble, and T’Lam was slippery enough with what rights she already held over their research.

“That is kind of you,” enthused the [human] scientist. “And I do look forward to getting both your opinions on the Mars facility. Especially the older chambers, those unearthed just before the war? The work you did on Osiris was invaluable, Javik.”

“It was simple enough,” Javik said, but he noted the [polite] attempt to include him. “Though surely you’ve made some progress in manufacturing a solution to your own limited senses?”

Mau puffed out her cheeks.

“Still as self-righteous as I remember,” she complained to Liara, glancing at him over the top of her glasses [a curious, pointed gesture].

“My apologies, Doctor,” Liara said, stepping in neatly [to tidy his arrogance] [an old manoeuvre]. “Sadly Javik holds the prothean inclination for disparaging divergent evolutionary tangents. That is, when he doesn’t outright ignore them.”

“If you corrected them, I would not have to,” Javik sniffed [eased into the predictability of this argument]. “The inferior biological arrangement of our client races were...adjusted to match the optimal design.”

“Of course they were.” Liara rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

It was not the same; the ebb and flow of Liara’s sentiments were much more restrained [guarded], even as he watched them flutter through her scent. Still, it was more than the strained civility that had met him that first week on Earth. The months with only a hologram to show she still lived.

“I know Lurkin Vel played around with the concept before,” Mau chimed in, more thoughtful than off-put by the exchange. She shrugged. “Well, I don’t think he got far.”

Javik would allow himself the notion that it was a start.

.

.

**106.**

They did not return to the house of Liara’s childhood. Indeed, the sky-car delivering them from the space-port to the continental exchange barely passed over the neighbourhood in which she had grown up in. 

That did not mean that Liara did not look for it.

Sweeping arches that reached out from the house to the garden that was reported to be mostly intact. Yellow blossoms and wild ivy decorated the outdoor structures in a manner far too naturally picturesque to be anything but cultivated. At this time of year, her mother’s ancient steward would be fussing over the window boxes matching the delicate violet drapes hung to mark the seasonal change.

It was a curious sensation; even the view from the sky-car made her nostalgic. The last time Liara had viewed the city-scape, Benezia’s death shroud was barely off the loom. 

There had no time for revisiting the past. Now, the skyline of her old neighbourhood was uneven from ruin and renewal, both intrinsically the same and undoubtedly changed from her memory.

She had been gone such a long time.

A prickling sensation crept over her crest, and Liara turned away from the window to find the quadratic golden gaze of her companion.

“Yes?” Liara inquired, recognising the lines that narrowed Javik’s eyes to a focused intent.

He did not flinch at her directness.

“You are uneasy here,” was all he said. 

Her lips tightened, and Liara propped her chin in her hand and returned her attention to the scenery passing them by. 

“It feels very unfamiliar,” she admitted. 

An anxious pause lingered, one that seemed to perfectly encapsulate the reticence that had echoed much of their interaction. It was one thing for Javik to rejoin her cause, it was another entirely to return to the comfort of their previous comradery. 

He had not reached out to touch her.

“And yet, you do not wish to linger in this city?” Javik’s clipped voice was carefully neutral. “Not even to visit the house of your progenitor?” 

“No,” Liara answered decisively.

There was no need, truly. The transit across Thessia’s southern hemisphere to its pole would take at least a day, and that wasn’t accounting for the long and arduous journey over the icy continent of Niferkirin that waited for them there.

It took time, after all, to hunt down an ancient, mythical hidden city.

Besides, remaining in Thessia’s capital would only bring unwanted attention, and Liara rather wanted to complete this expedition with a minimum of conflict. She was rather weary of them, and the remaining member of Lucen’s Eyes had been suspiciously quiet. 

Liara sighed into her palm. There was no reason to indulge the rare spate of longing that had pervaded her current mood.

Javik said nothing. 

“It would be a childish move that generated far too much speculation and attention to my whereabouts.” Liara sat back, folding her arms at Javik’s wordless inquiry. “I’m surprised you’d think to suggest it.”

The prothean shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I am attempting to not to view every situation as a potential battleground,” he responded, fingers flexing where they rested on his thighs. The crack in his carapace ran long and pale. “But only under great duress.”

A wave of guilt flushed her veins; how many times had Liara lamented his constant war-bound attitude? And now she was sabotaging long-held hopes for pettiness.

Still, that was not enough to hold back the querulous rejoinder Javik always managed to inspire in her.

“And how is that working out for you?” Liara queried.

“It still seems as pointless as the day Kirot suggested it to me,” Javik answered without a pause. “But, I will humour the old fool.”

“Hm.”

The hum of the sky-car hovered at the edges of their silence. Below, the city of Arthana flashed colour and light and elegance; the crown of asari civilisation. Once, her understanding of her home had been easy. Thoughtless. 

“Do you doubt, Liara?”

A part of her squirmed and settled to hear the deep burr of his voice again. Despite their reconciliation, the lines between Javik and her remained brittle and unclear. They had not discussed what had been said on that distant, Earthen shore. 

“Doubt?” She blinked at him.

“That we will find peace?” Javik had leant forward, elbows propped on his knees. One thumb pressed against the opposite wrist. “You were always so adamant that the horrors of the past should not overtake the hope for the future.”

“Javik,” Liara smiled; she could not help it. “I thought you were meant to be the dour one?”

His intense expression did not waver, and she knew that she had not fooled him.

“Thessia does not wish to change.” Liara studied the eggshell blue of her nails. “Not quickly, at least. I fear I have become greedy with what I expect of the universe.”

An empty laugh sounded from Javik’s red throat. 

“I could have told you that a long time ago.”

Her fingers tightened, until Liara creaked them open to place them delicately on her lap. One folded over the other, as if she were in a temple on worship day.

“I know.” It felt like a guilty admission.

Liara still remembered how it felt to watch the Fall of Thessia. How grief and gall had clashed to hear Councillor Tevos admit to the asari’s greatest deceit. How, grim-eyed, Shepard had charged in regardless, for another saving grace. The commandos who gave their last for a miracle that would not save them.

And of Ousia. Brave hero from Cyone. Chosen, by Liara, to be the gentle hammer of judgment unto the asari in a post-Reaper world. To lay bare all the festering secrets that had poisoned the asari to stagnation and selfishness so that they might regain the trust of the galactic community.

Ousia had died for Liara’s folly. Like Lieutenant Kurin and her commandos. Dankana, killed on Imorkan. Keeva on Illium. Rumi, lost in space. Shan and I’Vela and Ariad and all the other agents she had thrown against the Atanma.

Those most holy Atanma, most honoured and wisest and ancient of Matriarchs. Murdering her people from the shadows because they refused to cede power. 

An ache pooled in her jaw, and Liara loosened her clenched teeth.

She had once had such faith in her people. Or perhaps that had only been a dream whispered by her mother.

“Maybe I’m delusional,” Liara said, trying not to choke on the words. “Thinking I could bring a Matriarch like Tolmima to justice.” 

With one knuckle, she brushed the damp away from her eyes. Oh Thessia, a part of Liara cried, were you not meant for brighter, greater things? But again, those were Benezia’s words.

“Maybe the asari only have so much capacity for change.” The admission felt like acid against her tongue, and Liara shook her head at her folly. 

“Perhaps once,” Javik hesitated, an indiscernible flicker crossed his features, “the same was said of me.” 

“Javik,” she began, before realising that she had nowhere to go with her words.

But Javik cut off her stumbling with a flash of his quadratic eyes.

“If any can show the asari a way to evolve, it is you, Liara T’Soni,” “Believe that, at least.”

.

.

**107.**

He knew where she was [measured each decline of atmospheric temperature], even as he cursed the asari’s foolhardiness. It was far too late to be outside the scant protection of the Vadizo [all-terrain, asari built vehicle]. 

Javik peered into the oppressive dark, marking the imprint of Liara’s steps leading [again] away from the perimeter they’d established. He supposed he could send Gylph after her [drive her back from sheer annoyance], but he’d read the granite [rubble] of her mood that day.

They had found no ancient city buried in ice at Thessia’s southernmost pole.

They found a prothean observation station.

Liara [he’d hesitated to realise] had not been terribly surprised at this discovery [had not felt much of anything]. Though scripts and scroll spoke of an ancient city of sages [origin of mystics] [a lost jewel of divinity], they had both known that the reality was likely to be far more practical. A citadel built on the ruins of a prothean outpost [or some such]. Javik had read what he could from the remnants of Vendetta, but whatever knowledge it might have once had of the place the asari had named Nefrane was long gone.

Still, 50000 years had left a name and a location. And a back door only a prothean would think to look for. His people had been fond of contingency plans, after all.

Javik’s armour whirred as the field-drive fought to generate enough heat to keep his body functional. Luck, and some strategically placed mines had broken through the [aeons old] ice to Nefrane’s thick outer wall. From there, his own authority [HAH] had been enough [for the faded, lingering VI] to open the door to what had once been a small [secret] hanger. Little to no power [barest glimmers of bright] remained in the dilapidated station, but at the very least their vehicle would not freeze over in the sub-zero night.

And neither would they. So long, Javik thought sourly, as they remained inside of it.

He knew where he’d find her [for better or worse]. The disquiet [stark orange and acerbic] that had infused her scent when they’d uncovered the [tiny, frail, fading] mummified remains earlier that day could not be mistaken. 

Liara was ever loath to let go of a perceived injustice.

He trudged along [cursed the cold], following the scuff marks of her boots.

“You will not change the past by brooding over it,” Javik said when he found her, crouched low and small in the wide [abandoned] corridor. 

Liara did not reply, merely clasped her folded arms [purple and rolling to his senses] more tightly around her body. Even their cold-climate suits could not defy the entirety of the icy mountain’s wrath, but he did not think that the reason that she now hid behind her helmet. 

[Oh dear, lovely fool].

The diminutive figure was twisted where it lay, caught in an open vent of the [cracked] corridor wall panelling. One curled fist stretched alongside the skirting board; a final attempt [he’d wager] to drag herself from the broken wall that had trapped her so.

And it was a she. 

Or rather [Javik amended] it was an asari. A slight one, [pinched] face tucked into her shoulder. Scaled skin grey and flaking from time [arid salt and iron still lingered]. The knobs of her spine stood out stark on the back of her [withered] neck, disappearing under the frail remains of her [prothean made] clothing.

Endless time separated them from whatever [meaningless] tragedy had lain those little bones to rest. He wondered if he should leave Liara to her musings [wreathed there in darkness]. 

Javik dipped his head and made to retreat.

“She was a prisoner here,” Liara’s voice was soft and even [struck a chord in is chest nonetheless]. “Wasn’t she? That’s what they were doing here.”

All four of his eyes blinked slowly to meet her own hooded gaze. Javik nodded once more, and [stood to attention] clasped his hands behind his back.

“That would be the most likely scenario.”

The corners of her mouth bent downwards [ah, there it was]. She did not reach out to touch the remains, though Javik half expected her to. He did not know where this path would lead her [away from him?], but a new chill pervaded his body.

Liara inhaled deeply.

“What would have happened to them once the Reapers came?” A thrum of pain punctured her question. Liara’s helmeted face was still turned to the corpse, hands folded over her knees.

Javik hesitated.

[He knew the truth of his empire] [had played his hand in upholding it].

“Those that were educated, prepared for uplifting, would have been bidden to return to their people, to spread the knowledge and wisdom gifted to them.”

He sniffed, and felt the curl of a [timeworn] sneer pull at his expression. They would credit such gifts to the benevolence of greater beings [Athane, he did not say]. But it had been strategy, all strategy.

[That they both knew]

“This was not that sort of facility,” Javik acknowledged. “And those stationed here would not have allowed any trace of technological advancement to remain.”

Nefrane was a research outpost. It was a fortress; too isolated, too hidden with hard edges and forbidding scent lines for gentle intent. Liara could not sense it, but [artificial] bio-markers ran the length of the withered body [he could not glean their purpose]. The result of [unscrupulous] experimentation.

Liara shook her head [sadness dripping over her shoulders].

“She must have escaped the purge,” Liara said, attention focused back to the corpse. “The only one left in this place for the rest of her life.”

It was likely true. Even if the ancient subject [asari] [she had been an asari child] had managed to escape extermination and successfully hide the Prothean evacuation [cleansing], she would have never won true liberation. Not with the [dense] walls of a [prothean] facility in lock-down to contend with, followed by the impossibly icy mountain that lead down to further still uninhabitable land.

“The University will grant you great honours for this find.”

[It was a stupid thing to say].

“I don’t care about that,” Liara snapped, head jerking to scowl at him. Javik sucked his teeth and avoided her eyes.

“I know.”

The sparse, hollowness of the corridor [of Nefrane] haunted Javik’s senses. Old memory [impressions and remembrances] tugged at the reality he now lived. Taunted at his once mighty pride with the sight of the solemn asari before him, head bent [grieving] over a truth he could not shy away from.

[Once he would not have considered it an ugly truth].

“How-“

“Don’t ask such things, Liara,” Javik rasped [new], voice bouncing down lonely halls. “I do not have the answers you seek. Nor would they console you.”

He watched [through the visor] her lips press in on themselves. Felt the [unnatural] pull of his own body towards her [not here] [not this cruel place].

The Cosmic Imperative rewarded strength, efficiency and ruthlessness. This was true of all races, primitive or advanced. Extinct and flourishing. For an age the Prothean Empire had celebrated this [arrogantly] as a truth inherent [and universal] to themselves. Javik’s knuckles popped.

But that was not what had ended the Reapers in the end, was it? 

Liara stood up, dusted her hands on her knees.

“You’d think by now I’d stop being emotionally involved in archaeological finds,” she said with [supposed] nonchalance, but her voice was thick and broken [deep violet down her cheeks]. 

“You expected better of us,” Javik replied simply [without judgement]. A fleet smile crossed her face [flushed warmth in his two hearts]. “Even now.”

“Call it a personal flaw,” Liara huffed [wetly].

“I would not call it that.” 

[Not anymore].

When she started back towards their vehicle, Javik moved aside to walk beside her.

.

.

**108.**

Maybe it was foolish to be so diverted.

Numbers scrolled past Liara’s fingers; measurements and formulas concerning the mummified asari haunted her so. It was so hard to piece together the puzzle, to find some sense of purpose to her sad demise. What fibres had made up the material of her garment? Were the chemical variations in her skin from time and evolution, or were they a result of prothean experimentation? 

Had she even had a name?

Liara shook her head at the screen and tugged the puffer jacket closer around her shoulders. The square pull-out workstation bled out a yellow glow that made her fingers look pale and frail.

Behind her, Javik grunted. He’d been exercising vigorously to stave off both boredom and the cold that threatened them at night. What power they could spare went into maintaining the temperature of the compact cabin. Squashed at the back of their exploration vehicle, it had been designed with the detached utilitarian practicality that would make a salarian jealous. For any other race actually inhabiting the Vadizo, it made for interesting circumstance.

For instance, Liara had been studiously and valiantly trying not to watch Javik and his impressive build work out. 

“You will not discover Nefrane’s secrets so distracted.” 

Liara sucked her teeth that the exertion held in each of Javik’s breaths. She twisted on her stool to glare at him.

“Would you rather I fall to my knees and beseech the Goddess for an answer?”

Even caught mid push-up, biceps damp and bulging, Javik still had the wherewithal to smirk. On his wrist, neon green markings flashed his countdown.

“I would not endorse beseeching a goddess,” came the sly, careful answer. Liara narrowed her eyes and hooked one foot behind her ankle. It was almost an invitation, but not quite a provocation. 

At the very least, it was a distraction from the thousand year old body of a maiden abandoned in the bowels of a mythical city. 

“What would you then suggest?” It was a calculated response.

But no; the last of the protheans would not be goaded so easily. Javik studiously maintained his position on the floor; back ramrod straight, feet arched and arms straining as he returned to exercise. 

He did snort, though. A muscle in his neck trembled.

“A more fruitful endeavour,” Javik said after a pause, “but I know you will not listen to sense.”

Abruptly, she stood. The gold of his eyes flickered at her soft approach. Her feet stopped just a pace in front of him, and Liara raised a brow. From here, Javik could crane his neck to meet her gaze if he wished, albeit awkwardly. He did not.

Too much was roiling in her gut for this to be a sensible course of action.

“Sense, like beseeching a prothean for the answers instead?” It was not a fair question, not truly. But such were the terms of engagement in this game of theirs. She’d long since ceased holding him responsible for all the failings of his cycle, and Javik was trying to forgive her hers. 

The argument, however, tumbled between them again and again. A reminder of who they were, how far they had come. 

Liara knelt in front of him, amused when at last his head snapped up to meet her. Both sets of eyes blinked slowly.

“Well,” the red of Javik’s throat bobbed, and the tip of his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. “You are already kneeling before me.”

“And you are practically prostrate before me,” she countered, allowing her gaze to archly rove over the taut musculature evident despite the thermal-suit.

For someone affecting confidence, Javik’s face darkened to a deep flush remarkably quickly. 

The muscles of his arms bunched as Javik lifted his body up one last time. His shoulders rolled, and in a deliberate and controlled motion Javik pushed himself up and back on his heels. 

“No doubt the thought is very exciting for you,” he scoffed, jutting his chin forward. “Rest assured, it marks no concession of victory on my behalf.”

“Surely you could tell that for yourself?” Liara asked, knowing already that she felt was already laid bare to his senses. There was no competing with that level of perception. “And I was not aware we were in contest.”

Still, Liara did not expect him to reach for her. For the way her breath caught sharp in her throat as Javik drew a single, gentle finger along her jawline. For the way his copper-light eyes did not leave hers.

“Then you have already lost,” Javik declared, damnably collected, “Liara T’Soni.” 

It was suddenly hard to swallow, to blink without it feeling like a concession. The pad of one finger rested against her chin, and yet Liara could feel all of Javik there; the suggestion of a mind meld, the pressure of his mental map. His presence hummed just under her awareness, enough to make her crest prickle.

And she felt Javik watching, noting her attentiveness in observing. When she inhaled, his own breath was a moment behind. The colour around his eyes had deepened. At some point her jacket had slipped off one shoulder, exposing it to the brush of his knuckles. 

“Hah.” The sound tripped over her teeth. 

Liara had never known when to leave well enough alone. Most of the mess in her life was a direct result of that fact.

“What has you conflicted?” Javik asked, lines pinching his eyes.

She bit her lip. The edges of their thoughts brushed.

“In another life-time, Javik,” Liara started, almost shy, “we would not be the people the other admires so.”

Javik withdrew his hand, and Liara almost ached at the separation. He shifted uneasily and sat back on his heels, as if to gain a broader perspective. When he spoke, the words were careful, clipped.

“There is no other time but the one we currently occupy.”

Ah, as practical as always.

She frowned still, uncertain if his response was a dismissal or a reassurance. But his gaze was steady, and there was no flicker of mockery in Javik’s expression. Her hands balled on her thighs. 

With a small dip of his head, Javik placed his knuckles down and scooted closer on his knees. Liara’s breath caught; she was suddenly not sure what she wanted from this moment. The chill of the cabin, the slight ache in her knees; all the world bar the two of them was caught behind a veil. They were face to face and so much closer.

Intimacy was such a complex thing.

“Believe this,” he said, breath ghosting her skin. “If personal desire could exchange one time for another, we two would never have reached this moment.”

Liara sighed, and let her eyes flutter closed.

“You say that,” she all but whispered, “and all I hear is regret for how things are.”

They were too close for this conversation. These fears and realities.

And yet, it did not feel like a confrontation.

“I regret,” Javik began, reaching out again for contact [for emphasis and clarity of meaning] [so you know me]. Their fingers wound into each other like old friends. “That so much of what I knew to once be true was wrong.” 

And oh it was the truth [of course it was]. It swept through their palms like a [electric blue] summer storm.

Liara bent forward and kissed him softly, chastely and pulled away.

[Oh].

If she had to describe it, Liara would say that he looked a little dumbstruck.

“You know,” Javik cleared his throat, “that gesture had a very specific meaning in my cycle.”

She could feel the heat running through his thoughts [green and crimson fire]. The very direct prothean correlation between the act and it’s [carnal] conclusion.

“I know.” Liara glanced away then, too embarrassed to match his gaze. “Should I not have?” 

“No. Yes.” Javik stopped his staggering words and inhaled [trepidation ringing]. “You should have.”

It cost him so much to say it [a millstone released] [a shackle undone]. Liara squeezed his hand.

Slowly, Liara pressed her lips to the side of his mouth. Soft, careful kisses like a feathered wingbeat. Javik held still under her attention, head tilted towards her. She felt him parsing the [unfamiliar] difference between intimacy and copulation, the strangeness of the cycle’s tenderness. A pulse of pleasure shivered between them when he placed a [trembling] hand at her [alien] waist.

And when hers brushed the red of this throat? 

[OH].

[You-].

Liara smiled as his mouth opened and sought hers as if seeking salvation. She drew Javik closer, felt the bright spark of his mind crackle and pop at each place they pressed against each other. His hands at her hips. Her thumb at his throat. Their legs awkwardly tucked beneath them and teeth clacking from haste.

Eternity was building at her eyes, and this time he did not turn away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Back from the dead!
> 
> Needless to say sorry about the delayed update. I was shuffling around chanpters and then holidays and real life (and then no internet for a month!) kept getting in the way. Rest assured I am still working on this fic, but my productivity when it comes to writing is always a little spotty. I still have a bunch of lovely comments that I must thank you all for. I hope you all find this chapter worth the wait.
> 
> Glossary:
> 
> Atamna: Athame high priestesses  
> Agbei: Prothean midwives.  
> Arthana: Thessia’s capital city. Where the Temple of Athme was located.  
> Chahhu: Asari biotic dance routine.  
> Fyaer: Thessian thorned flower.  
> Kamada: Prothean word for the imperial court.  
> Ke Agbon: Prothean birthing centres.  
> Maalume: Prothean overseers/moral managers.  
> Marbar Ya: Prothean word for the carers of young.  
> Shihiid: Martyr  
> Soaxiib: Prothean word for comrade, typically referring to experienced, familiar military teams.  
> Kamen: Quarian word for object


End file.
